


The Devotion of Soldiers

by AgapeErosPhilia (AttilaTheHun)



Series: Cullen and Cassandra Chronicles [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Diplomacy, Elvhen Lore, F/M, Ferelden, M/M, Nevarra, Political Alliances, Politics, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 100,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7185656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttilaTheHun/pseuds/AgapeErosPhilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen and Cassandra are lovers first and soldiers second - or so Cullen thinks. But when the Inquisition calls for service beyond swords, the truth may be something altogether different. Can their love survive their duty? And will it be worth saving, in the end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happily Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completed story over on FF (and the sequel to one posted both there and here) that I'll be transferring over in pieces to preserve it somewhere more easily downloaded. It's designed to be able to be read without reading the first one first. I hope you enjoy it, if you pick it up!

"Wake up."

Cullen rolled over and cracked a baleful eye at his bedmate. "It can't possibly be morning so soon," he said. His voice split and wavered as he spoke, and he cleared his throat before diving back under the comfort of the pillows. "It was only just dusk."

"I assure you that the usual number of hours passed," said Cassandra with far too much amusement for his liking. They'd woken up together for over half a year, but he'd never learned her skill at mornings. "You snored your way through them most enthusiastically."

"I don't snore."

"Of course not."

Cullen growled. Cassandra agreeing with him was almost worse than the alternative. She made assent sound so dubious. "Wives are supposed to find their husbands wonderful and perfect, not point out their flaws before the sun crests the horizon." He knew his voice was muffled by cloth, but he couldn't summon up the energy to be more distinct.

She understood anyway. "Very well. I will only seek your flaws well after daybreak," she said, and the smile in her voice was still there.

He felt the bed shift as she rolled away. The familiar sounds of her morning ritual drifted to him in bits and pieces. The opening and closing of the small door that led to a washroom he'd asked the carpenters to build. The chests creaking as she selected her clothing. The thump of shoes on the floorboards when she dropped them. He reluctantly smiled into the bedsheets at that. Cassandra did it on purpose, to wake him up again without risking another grumpy reply.

Cullen waited for the next stage, the buckling of her armor, but there was only silence. He gave in to curiosity and unearthed his head from the darkness of the pillows into the slightly lesser darkness of the room. He'd thatched the roof so it was whole and, more importantly, warm, but the burgeoning light shone through the remaining window in the ceiling with just enough illumination for seeing. She was lacing her boots, leather instead of metal, and her clothes were lightweight. Old clothes, suited for hard work, but not her usual gear.

At his quizzical look, she answered the unspoken question. "I will lead the newest company on their run of the battlements this morning. No mail yet for them."

"That doesn't usually stop you."

"Leliana tells me that it makes the recruits feel inadequate."

"I know how they feel," he muttered, but he grinned.

She glared at him. "It's vexing. I will not feel that I've properly trained, but I do not wish to dishearten the Inquisition's forces."

He bit back another teasing remark. Cassandra cared for the Inquisition more than anything but him, and Cullen admitted to himself that some days even that was a near thing. It had been her creation, hers and Leliana's. Aside from choosing him, a scarred and haunted Templar, to command its forces, she'd never done anything to jeopardize it. It would be cruel to make too much light of something that was so serious to her. The Inquisition was her child, one that had finally brought peace to the world.

Speaking of children. He propped himself up on his elbow. "I had a nice dream last night. If you need to tire yourself out to make your run challenging, I'd be happy to show you the highlights before you go," he said. The sheet covering him slid down in a way he hoped was enticing.

Her expression was still solemn, but the corners of her mouth tugged upward very slightly. "How altruistic of you."

"I like to do my part," he said. "Besides, I'm led to understand that frequent sex is the key to having a child. I'm only following the laws of nature."

Instead of the usual softening of her eyes at the reminder, her face went blank. She bent down to fiddle with her boots, then straightened with a cough. "Actually, I am taking the herbs again. To prevent pregnancy," she said.

"You're what?" All traces of humor left him as he sat up. He tried to catch her gaze, which was currently located somewhere above his head. "Since when?"

"Yesterday."

"And you just decided that. Without talking to me?" He balled the sheet up into his fist. "I thought you wanted children." With him.

At that she looked at him again sharply. The daylight was a warming orange halo above her. "Of course I do. But this may not be the best time for it," she said. Guilt flashed across her face almost too quickly to see. "And you know that I've always wished us to be known to be married before it occurs."

Cullen sighed. His foolish romantic notions were nothing but trouble. He'd asked her to marry him on impulse when they were travelling on Inquisition business, alone and happy. Back then he'd only just realized what he'd been gifted in her, a friend and lover he almost hadn't seen, and the terror of that knowledge had driven him to the question. He'd needed her, and she'd given herself, and they'd had a small ceremony in a corner of Orlais with a willing, silent, Chantry conspirator.

That had been perfect. But, like all of his romantic gestures, it had rippled out into consequences he'd never intended. This one had the effect of making their marriage a secret, to avoid hurting the feelings of the family and friends they'd so been so fortunate to find and so heartless to exclude. It would disappoint the Inquisitor particularly. Ellana Lavellan had been a champion of their love before he'd known he held any, and she would be devastated to learn what they'd done.

But all of that would soon be over. "The surprise wedding Ellana's planning for us must be soon. My family will only be in Skyhold for another few months. She'll want them to attend," he said. His sisters, Mia and Alice, as well as Mia's husband and children, had all joined them for the winter. So far they'd been joy and terror in equal measures. "Also, that was still true the day before yesterday. What changed?"

He tried to keep his voice even, but he could hear the note of frustration in it. He loved Cassandra more than he'd ever thought it possible to love another person, but her tendency to cut him out of the decision-making process at her whim chafed. It wasn't that she made poor choices, but he hated feeling like a spectator to her life when she was the only thing that had kept him together for so long.

She must have heard his anger as well, and she quickly circled around the bed to grip his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I wanted to talk to you about it, but you were with your captains all day and the decisions had to be made quickly."

He was just opening his mouth to demand to know exactly what other decisions had been made when a cough came from the ladder down to his office. Cassandra whirled around, her hand dropping to her non-existent sword, while Cullen just tried to make sure he was decently covered. Cole's face looked back at them from underneath his wide-brimmed hat.

"Cole, we talked about picking the locks to my office," said Cullen.

"Only in emergencies," said the spirit shaped into a boy. He faded in and out of Cullen's vision, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto the memory that the boy was there, a sure sign that Cole was embarrassed. "The Iron Bull said this was an emergency. He said if Cassandra is late, she will lose face. I don't want her face to be lost. It's a nice face."

Cassandra swore to herself. "He's right. I cannot be seen to be slack," she said. "Forgive me." Only he knew her well enough to hear the question, and the uncertainty, under the command.

"Go. But promise me we'll talk later."

"I do," she said quietly, and he nodded in acknowledgment. They didn't wear rings, but they carried those words with them always. "I love you," she added.

"I love you, too," he said. He didn't trust himself to say more.

She paused at the top of the ladder. "Do you wish to come on the run? It may be good for you. You haven't had a proper work out in some time."

He winced and looked down at himself. His wife was blunt and correct, as usual. He could see the softening of his body as he spent more and more time behind a desk. Was this part of her decision? Less strength in him? Less appeal to her? He didn't know. "I wouldn't want to slow you down," he said, striving for humor but ending somewhere around bitterness.

Cassandra flushed slightly and turned away. Cole shifted to the side as she slid gracefully down the ladder. The door opened and closed, and Cullen stared at his hands angrily. He'd known there was a reason he hated mornings. They were nothing but trouble. The remnants of his all-too-real dream surfaced, and he screwed his eyes shut against them. He'd seen a family. Cassandra and a child that was theirs. Something even greater than the perfection that she already was. Something they'd both wanted.

Or so he'd thought.

"She likes it when you snore," said Cole from the hole in his floor. "Cassandra doesn't like secrets, but she likes that one. She's the only one who knows your music."

He didn't snore, he was certain, but it hardly mattered. "Thank you, Cole. Please tell anyone waiting downstairs that I'll be down in twenty minutes."

* * *

There were people in his office when he descended into the new day, but they weren't who he expected. Two blonde heads were just visible behind his desk, and he heard muffled giggles and shushing noises as he crossed the stone floor on quiet feet. When he was a handspan away, he cleared his throat. "Ladies."

The two heads crashed together with an audible thunk. He rubbed a hand over his mouth at their cries of dismay, but he made sure his face was stern and forbidding when they rose. It didn't seem to matter. Despite what surely must be a blooming headache for them both, green and blue eyes still sparkled at him with the glint of trouble.

"Good morning, Cullen," said Alice. His younger sister wore the easy smile that meant she was about to lie through her teeth, and he groaned inwardly. He loved her, truly, but he was in no mood to play the game of who-knows-what about weddings this morning. It was becoming difficult to track what he was and wasn't supposed to know. With luck, they were only setting up some embarrassing prank that would be over quickly.

He ran the last thought back through his mind and shook his head in resignation. That's what passed for luck, with them.

"Yeah, morning. Your nephew's a shite lookout," said Sera. Her tone was companionable, and her face revealed nothing at all.

"Peter?" he asked incredulously. His oldest nephew was not only serious and disinclined to pranks, but he was angling for a place in the Inquisition when he came of age. He'd never risk his position to help his aunt cause trouble. Light dawned. "Ah. Alistair. Yes, the morning pastries should have just finished baking a few minutes ago. If you paid more attention in my tactical lessons, you would have planned around that eventuality."

"Tactics is just a way of getting yourself killed on a schedule," said Sera. "I like random. If even I don't know where I'm going to be, how can the other assholes?"

"That explains the bewildered tone of the field reports I've been getting from the soldiers on your missions," he said. He circled around the back of the desk, and they mirrored him with shuffling steps. "So, what are you doing here?"

Alice gave him a look even sweeter than the baking pastries. "We just wanted to be the first to say good morning to you," she said. "After Cassandra, of course. Is she here?"

He ignored the question as he started poking around his desk. The chair seemed to bear his weight when he pressed on it, and the desk was stable and free of any sticky substances. Sera crossed her arms when he looked back at them. "Plus you get the best breakfasts, thanks to Her Glowiness," she said.

As if on cue the door opened, and a kitchen boy came in with a tray. He stopped short when the two women spun to look at him. Cullen couldn't see their expressions, but by the look of the boy's, they were predatory. "Should I bring more, Commander?" he asked.

"No, thank you," said Cullen. "I'm not hungry. I'm sure this will be adequate for the ladies."

The boy deposited the tray on the nearby low table with more haste than even a mage's spell granted, and he was already bowing out of the room before Sera could protest. The women settled on the couch, grumbling, while Cullen bent down to examine the desk's drawers. He frowned. There was nothing wrong with them that he could see. What in Thedas had they been doing?

"Hey, Cullen," said Alice, and he straightened quickly. He was just fast enough to see something flying at his head, and he grabbed it out of the air out of sheer instinct. He stared at the apple resting in his closed fist, and applause came from the couch.

"Not bad for an old-timer," said his sister. He glared at her, and she raised her eyebrows. "Even grumpier than usual this morning. Did you and Cassandra have a fight?"

"We don't fight," he said. "And I said I'm not hungry."

Sera laughed. "Cully-Wully, your doors aren't that thick. We can tell when you're fighting and when you're fucking," she said. Alice nodded sagely, and Cullen reddened. Sera took a huge chunk out of a muffin. "Lucky for you it's usually the fucking," she said around her mouthful.

"Eat the apple," added Alice. "Unless you want to lie to her when she asks if you ate breakfast. Besides, you need it. You look awful."

"Thank you so much," he said. He bit a small bite from the apple and set it on his desk as he took his seat. If he asked them to leave, they'd only stay longer. Best to ignore them until they got bored. Mostly ignore them. "You sound more like Mia every day."

Comparing fun-loving Alice to their serious, motherly older sister was usually a guaranteed irritant. But for the second time that morning he failed to get his expected reaction, as Alice only giggled behind her hand. She whispered furiously to Sera, who was chewing and grinning widely. He sighed and turned his attention to the papers some unobtrusive messenger had dropped off for him after Cole's break-in. Bandit activity in the Arbor Wilds had their scouts concerned, and Leliana's people didn't spook easily. He'd bring it up with her later.

After a few minutes of sporadic laughter from the corner, Sera suddenly spoke again. "So I've been thinking about tactics. Maybe they're not so bad. You have a book about them, right? _Fifty Fighting Formations?_ "

He stared at her, flummoxed. She shook her head in a quick little jerk that set her hair swaying. "Sometimes you're so boring even I can't tune you out," she said defensively. "Gotta see how bad it's going to get. Anyway, can I borrow it?"

"Of course," he said slowly, still looking for the game. He pushed back from the desk and made to stand. "Let me just grab it for -"

He stopped. Instead of standing in a smooth motion, the chair came with him, and he found himself leaning over his desk with a wooden chair glued to his backside. The laughter was no longer muffled, exploding into a new chorus of merriment. He couldn't see them from his new position, but he heard, "Quick! Run!"

Cullen sat back down just in time to see the two women dashing toward the door with their pockets full of his breakfast, giggling madly. Dorian stood in it unnoticed, but he jumped out of their way quickly. His shoulders shook, even as he gave Cullen a pitying look.

He ignored the mage. "Sera! Alice! Get back here!" Cullen struggled against the glue that trapped him to the chair, stopping only at a small ripping noise from his trousers. The way this morning was going, he'd end up on the battlements in only his smallclothes.

"As delightfully authoritative as you can be, I think they hold the advantage here," said Dorian. The Tevinter man summoned his noble demeanor again, with only the barest hint of laughter in his voice to betray him. "This feels remarkably like a dream I've often had, but I must ask. Commander, would you like me to help you out of those pants?"

* * *

In the end the pants were a total loss. Dorian cut Cullen out of them carefully, with a show of gallant modesty that was somehow more embarrassing than outright leering. When Cullen climbed back to his room to retrieve a new pair and toss the remnants of the old into the bandage pile, the mage's voice called up after him, "This is how you know it was a prank by Sera. She's the only one who would be foolish enough to plan something that got you out of your pants alone. Everyone else knows the shirt should be the first thing to go."

It was so like something Cassandra would say that Cullen chuckled against his will. He looked down at himself, and his smile vanished. "Dorian," he said as he descended again, "do you think I'm out of shape?"

Dorian gave him a speculative look. "Unless you plan to strip all the way down it will be difficult to make a true assessment," he said. When Cullen stopped at the bottom of the ladder and stared at him, the mage sighed. "From what I'm able to tell, your musculature remains quite prominent. Why do you ask? Planning to lead the vanguard against the next enemy we cultivate?"

Cullen snorted. "Hardly." He leaned against the rungs behind him. "What brings you here so early? I thought for sure you'd be missing until dinner after your trip."

To his surprise, Dorian accepted the change in subject easily. "It's true that the Imperium is draining, but I promised our dear Ambassador Montilyet I would meet with her this morning, so I am somehow awake against all my better instincts. The Inquisition must have finally instilled me with its legendary discipline." He struck a ludicrous military pose, the straps and silks of his clothing somehow multiplied from the usual finery, and Cullen smiled wryly. Dorian grinned in return. "Well, there's always the dream. And truthfully, a future Archon can't be too inflexible, can he?"

"So things went well in Tevinter?" asked Cullen.

Dorian shrugged. "Well enough. I must thank you for quelling the Venatori so very thoroughly. My countrymen are practically foaming at the mouth for a man with enough political pull to call your _disciplined_ soldiers off," he said. "But you'll find out more soon. I'm here to fetch you to the War Table. Inquisitor's orders."

"At this hour? I hope nothing's fallen to pieces," said Cullen. He headed for the door, mind already turning over the possibilities.

"No more than usual," said Dorian, but he made no move to follow.

Cullen turned back and quirked an eyebrow at him. "I thought you were here to fetch me."

"Yes, well, I think you know the way from here," said Dorian. He smoothed a finger over his mustache. "And I'd heard tell that a new company of Fereldans are expected to arrive at Skyhold today. A gift from their generous sovereigns. Someone should be here to welcome them in your absence, don't you think?"


	2. The Fairest of Them All

"You're late," said Ellana.

She smiled at him across the table, and he shrugged. "I only knew to be here five minutes ago. Of all of us, only Leliana can see the future before it happens," he said.

Josephine and Leliana chuckled, but Ellana gave him a sharp look. "Did you eat breakfast?"

Cullen thought back to his one bite of the apple that still rested on his desk. "Yes," he said with as much confidence as he could muster. He sat down and tried not to blush under her skeptical stare. When she tossed a roll to him from her own half-finished meal, he accepted the silent command.

The Inquisitor leaned back with a satisfied look on her thin, elven face. "Let's begin, then."

Leliana opened with her usual intelligence updates. Tevinter had surrendered their war in all but name, but getting reliable information from the Imperium was proving challenging even for her. Most other countries were in hand, though she indicated that the Qunari were starting to rumble again. Iron Bull's presence, a Tal-Vashoth highly placed in the Inquisition's ranks, mostly precluded even opening negotiations with them, but Josephine promised to try another approach, one she claimed to have been working on for some time. She didn't elaborate, and Cullen was glad. He appreciated her skill more than he could say, but the intricacies of what she did were enough to make his head spin even on the finest day.

Which this had not been, by any measure.

When Leliana subsided without mentioning the Arbor Wilds, Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Nightingale, I received a report of alarming bandit activity in the Wilds. Near the Elvhen ruins. The report was from your people," he said. "Did you not know? I thought it was simply a courtesy notification of something you were already aware of."

She didn't respond, and he shook his head. Of course she knew. "Or was it desperation after their earlier reports fell on deaf ears?"

The bard's face remained placid, but Ellana was almost as bad at Wicked Grace as he was. She winced and said, "You weren't supposed to know about that."

"I am your Commander. I'm supposed to know about everything. And what could possibly be confidential about bandits?" he asked. "They're far from the first, though their location indicates a level of organization that's unusual." The Wilds were hostile even to trained and well-armed men, let alone desperate criminals.

Ellana looked helplessly at Leliana, who sighed. "They're not bandits, Commander. Solas is leading the guardians we encountered in Mythal's temple on a mission. Banditry is their cover, even from our own people. More than that I will not say." She rolled her eyes at his glare. "They've hurt no one."

"Your people wouldn't be so alarmed if no one had been hurt," he pointed out.

"They've hurt no one in a permanent way," said Leliana.

He looked back and forth between the Inquisitor and her spymaster, who were waiting for his reaction with surprising nervousness. Josephine, he noticed, had said nothing at all. Which was why he wasn't the diplomat.

Still, he had to put his faith somewhere. "I trust you," he said slowly. "I know you wouldn't have sent Solas away if it weren't important." Ellana and Solas were more than in love. They were so close as to be indistinguishable at times. Even Cassandra's thoughts were often hidden to him. He sometimes wondered how they did it. "But can anything be important enough to injure our own? Or innocents?"

Ellana twisted her hands together so cruelly that he bit his lip in sympathy. Elves were generally lithe, but she was one of the most slender of their kind he'd ever met. She also barely hit his chest, and when she was surrounded by guards she practically disappeared into them. Even back when he'd imagined himself in the throes of love with her, he'd been a little afraid of her frailty in the face of his strength despite the ferocity of her magic. And the anchor she carried, the power that none of them understood, seemed to drain her a little more every day, make her a little smaller even while her footprint grew large enough to cover all of Thedas.

He waited in silence, and eventually the Inquisitor looked at him. "It is, Commander. Trust that I do not do this lightly," she said. She turned to Leliana with a storm on her face. "But don't hide the consequences of my choices from me, Nightingale."

"I didn't believe you had the heart to hear it and continue to choose the right path," said Leliana. "I wished to spare you pain."

Ellana smiled sadly. "I'm the Inquisitor. I don't have the luxury of avoiding the pain I cause," she said. Her hand flashed, once, and she squeezed her fist against it. She turned back to Cullen. "If it eases your concerns, Solas tells me they've exhausted their search of the Arbor Wilds and will move on to other parts of Thedas. Their banditry has already ended."

He didn't feel eased at all. His fingers gripped the edge of the table, almost as though he were trying to pull himself through it to comfort her. Ellana may or may not be a holy woman, but she was a friend. "You'll tell me when I can help," he said. It was an order.

She knew it. "Yes."

He nodded. He would obey her. And trust her. He'd made the choice long ago, and she'd rewarded it at every step.

When he settled back in his chair again, Josephine leaned forward. "Speaking of other parts of Thedas, I have mapped out a proposal for our next diplomatic steps in the world. With your permission, I will share it now."

Cullen chuckled at the formality, but the other women nodded with all the respect he showed a new military campaign and he winced. When he shot the Antivan an apologetic look, she accepted it with a regal nod. "Our question, for the last few months, has been: What is our place in this new world? Previously, this was abundantly clear. A hole in the sky. A frightened populace. A war between Templars and mages. Incursions by rogue elements in Tevinter and Orlais. Unrest and chaos," she said. "We were the stability that the nations could not bring to their people, and we were welcomed with cautious joy as we proved our good intentions.

"But now the world is re-finding its peace. There is new order, and the nations are able to maintain it with limited support. They begin to look at us more warily. We have influence which we have yet to spend. We have power, both in arms and in magic, that is leashed. But for how long? We all know that armies without objectives tend to create their own." She said the last with a look at him, and he shrugged agreement.

"Theoretically we are an arm of the Chantry," she continued. "The Orlesian Chantry, I should say. As a religious order, we would be tolerated, though perhaps not as neatly as we might have been under Divine Justinia. Divine Victoria, as a mage and a traditionalist, has less… popular support."

Leliana snorted a little, and Josephine sighed. "However, this is not theory. This is reality, and in reality we have a Dalish Inquisitor and the Chantry is ours to command. No divine oversight. Circles of mages and garrisons of Templars. The fealty of the remaining, formerly apolitical, Wardens. Thousands of citizens. The power of a nation, with no obligation to anyone but ourselves," said the diplomat. "Quite frankly, while the nations of Thedas are only wary now, they will soon be terrified."

Cullen blanched. He knew all too well what happened to the world when the powerful found terror where no threat existed. "So what do we do? Disband like the last Inquisition?"

"No," answered Josephine. "Not only because that would only cause a new chaos, but I truly believe the people in this room are the right ones to guide the world into something that can last." Her expression softened as she looked at Leliana. "A new age."

Ellana spoke quietly from her seat. "Then what do you propose, Lady Montilyet?"

"They are wary because we are separate from them. We will soothe this by joining them to us."

"With treaties? Like the Grey Wardens hold?" asked Cullen.

"Nothing so tenuous. We will join them to us permanently, by showing that they are already here," she said. He knew his confusion showed on his face, and she smiled. "Look at us, Commander. Look at the members of the inner circle. We already hold the strength we need. We must only use it."

She picked up a piece of paper in front of her and read quickly. "Ferelden. King Alistair and Queen Elissa are already closely allied with us, through both yourself and Leliana. You are a champion of the common people, as well as a respected Templar throughout Thedas. His Highness also approves of our mercy to the Grey Wardens. There will be no trouble there, so long as we maintain their rule. Orlais. Empress Celene is an avowed supporter, and through Leliana's connections to the bards, we can ensure it remains that way. The Game will work in our favor. Divine Victoria will also keep to our cause.

"Antiva. There, I may be of some assistance, and my sister has been elevated by association - most willingly, I might add. I am already in negotiations for marriages for both of us," said Josephine. She didn't bat an eyelash, and Cullen gaped at her. How far was she willing to go for this Inquisition?

Far enough, it seemed. She flashed him a smile and added, "Don't worry. I will have complete control over my choice. I would rather wed for the good of my family and this cause than anything so uncertain as a love match. And in Antiva, the rules of the marriage bed are somewhat… flexible, provided precautions are taken." Josephine looked perfectly at peace, but Cullen couldn't understand how.

"Some of Leliana's old friends will gain the support of the less reputable members of Antivan society," she continued. The Crows, he heard in the spaces between the words. "Rivain is too distant, and too Qunari, for us to gain now, but the Anderfels can be plied through Blackwall and the Wardens. We have no direct connection Orzammar, but Varric's name is well-known enough to use. However, with our lessening reliance on lyrium in the new Templar Order, there may be hurt feelings to be soothed, preferably with new trade agreements. However Elvhenan, and the Dalish in general, clearly see great potential for themselves in our Inquisitor."

Ellana smiled, but it didn't quite meet her eyes.

"The three remaining lands will be the most difficult to corral. The Free Marches do not bend easily and are inclined to be distrustful of any broad powers no matter who they are. However, they are well represented in the Inquisition, the Starkhaven contingent threw their strength in with us early on, and Hawke has returned to Kirkwall to reclaim her power, with our support."

"Maker help Kirkwall," he mumbled, and Leliana laughed.

Josephine sighed. "Tevinter. Formerly impossible, given Dorian's status, the Venatori's lingering influence and our long enmity. We funded the movement against slave ownership for some time, as well. However, the Imperium now seems most eager to treat with us, and Dorian's ascent to the position of Archon can be achieved, delicately. He's made a strong impression on the ruling class, from what I can tell, hinting at his openness to an alliance with whichever House makes the strongest bid. His father is pleased, and House Pavus holds sway again with the Magisterium. That pleasure will be our gain."

Cullen narrowed his eyes. "An alliance. Another marriage?" he asked. Josephine nodded, and he cocked a skeptical eyebrow. He thought of the mage, waiting in his office for a new influx of men into the fortress. "That seems unlikely."

"Unlikely or no, I do not presume to tell him which path he should choose for himself." She dropped her eyes back to the page, and said, after a minute of hesitation, "Nevarra. An ambitious land. They have wealth, military might, and magical prowess that is not well understood outside of its borders. While the rest of Thedas united would be more than a match for it, I fear we will not be united for some time. They are also centrally located and well-versed in whisper tactics. They may look not only to undermine us, but possibly take our control for their own, now that it can be had."

There was a sudden silence, and they all looked at him. They were clearly expecting some input, though he couldn't imagine what. He certainly had no contacts in Nevarra. He'd never even been to the place. As far as he knew, he'd only ever met one person from there in his life.

Understanding came. "Cassandra. She's royalty there," he said. Didn't he call her princess often enough? Just to annoy her, of course. She'd rather be a kitchen maid than a royal. "I'm sure she can't have left only enemies behind her. Mostly sure. Why not use them?"

The ambassador ignored the last. "Precisely, Commander. She is royalty," said Josephine. The soft note in her voice confused him, and he waited for them to make sense.

Leliana broke in. "In fact, given the struggle between the Pentaghasts and the Van Markhams, their rivals, and the weakening state of their current Pentaghast ruler, she is considerably more than royalty. She's being spoken of as a possibility for the throne."

He laughed. "In her nightmares. Besides, she's told me how far away she is in the succession."

"That was true when she left, but rules can be bent. She was not a highly ranked member of the most powerful army in Thedas then. The Seekers had not yet disbanded, leaving her untethered to their vows. Nevarra had not yet learned to fear the disorder outside their borders," said Josephine. "They respect warriors. They respect justice. And those who make decisions respect her."

"But you're right," said Leliana. "Cassandra would never consent to a crown, even if they offered. Even if they begged." From the annoyed look on her face, Leliana had once again gazed into the terrifying depths of his wife's stubbornness. "We will have to settle for building her influence in the country. And through hers, ours."

"I don't see a problem," he said, even though they clearly did. These women had never taken so long to come to the point in their lives. "If they already respect her and they like fighting, get their leaders in here with some swords and let her duel them all. After that, it will be obvious whose side they should be taking."

Ellana put a hand over her mouth to cover a giggle while Josephine rubbed her forehead. "A singular idea, to be sure. And broadly correct. We will be holding a ball to welcome them, as well as other ambassadors, in the next month. Cassandra will be central."

"Will she have to wear a gown?" he asked. He grinned when they nodded. Cassandra would be livid. She'd only gone to the Winter Palace because she'd been able to wear pants. "This may be the only ball I enjoy in my entire life, then."

"Cullen," said Ellana, and he sobered at the use of his name. "In order for this to work, Cassandra must show a renewed interest in her home. In its traditions, in its future… in its sons."

He stared at her, and everything fell into place. He was more than sober now. "Absolutely not," he said. "There will be no alliances, no arrangements. Not for her." His friends may not know they were already wed, but they certainly knew the strength of their love.

"It's her choice," said Leliana, and he snarled deep in his throat. Yes, it was. She'd already made it. She was his. There was no other path.

Josephine held up a conciliatory hand. "She need not marry, or even enter a formal arrangement. Being open to the offers is enough. I can work with them just as easily," she said.

He tried to breathe, to think as they needed him to. As Cassandra would want him to. This was for her Inquisition. "Just through the ball? She pretends availability, I pretend indifference, and then the diplomacy takes over?"

"It will likely take a year to cement the ties we need to be secure."

A year? He didn't try to hide his disgust. "No. She'll never agree to this. I don't know why we're talking about it."

"She already has, Cullen," said Ellana quietly. "Yesterday. We needed to begin planning as soon as possible."

His mind shut down. All of those decisions she'd alluded to. The herbs. The talk they were going to have. Some talk that would have been, if they'd only had the time.

He found himself standing without thought, without waiting to be dismissed. The parts of his brain that reasoned were dead and gone, and a white-hot rage rode underneath him with the sweetness of a well-trained mount. He was going to have a different talk with her, now. And none of them were going to stop him.

"It won't be as bad as you think," said Ellana, desperation in her voice, but he was already slamming the door behind him before she could finish.

* * *

It was cold and bleak when he walked out to the training yard, but he didn't feel the chill. The full force of a Frostback winter was muted here, some remnant of the ancient powers that had once lived in the place. Or so Solas said. What it really meant was that being outside, within a close radius of Skyhold, wouldn't kill anyone. Just make them miserable. But Cullen didn't need any magical protection today to stay heated.

He heard the clash of swords and knew the morning run was over. Cassandra would be observing the training recruits. Or yelling at them, more likely. He pivoted towards the noise smoothly. The light this morning had a negative quality, like the world had turned inside out, and he smiled without humor. It seemed even nature knew things were wrong.

Cullen saw her as soon as he descended the stairs. She was leaning against the wall of the tavern and talking to Bull with a careful frown. They liked to give the impression they were assessing the recruits, to make them nervous, but he knew they were really talking about the training schedule for the rest of the week. Good. He would have interrupted her no matter what she was doing, but it would be better that it was nothing critical.

As he watched, Bull said something with his trademark laugh, and Cassandra smiled while she nodded towards a slacking trainee. A performance. A game, for the benefit of his soldiers. Just like the games she would play with Nevarran nobility, smiling and staring and letting them think she could ever burn for them. Cullen's stomach knotted, and he knew he didn't want to talk to her at all.

In a handful of strides Cullen was next to her. It only took a single motion for him to pull her close and kiss her with a furious growl. His. She was his, and he was damned if he'd watch her let another man know even a ghost of what that might feel like. Cassandra and Cullen. That was the only thing in the world that had ever made sense. He tried to send the thought through his hands and his lips, to brand himself on her soul. _I do not consent._

Only after a long minute, when the kiss had softened into something gentler and infinitely sadder, did he realize how close he was to tears. And how motionless she was against him.

He pulled back. Her face told him nothing at all, but her eyes held far too many things. Sadness and support and guilt, but also wariness and embarrassment and just a touch of exasperation. He frowned a little, wondering what was fueling that last, until he heard the sharp, brief sound of laughter from the ring of watching soldiers.

Maker's breath, had he really just done that in front of a whole yard of trainees?

He knew how hard she worked to maintain authority, even though command was as much a part of her as the scar on her cheek or the lines of her jaw. She'd told him enough times how hard it was to get some of the less open-minded soldiers to accept her as a leader, and even the most generous of them had a difficult time blending the woman away until there was only the Seeker. It didn't help that she was the most beautiful woman in the ranks, he was sure. In all of Thedas. And now he'd given them the clearest reminder of her sexuality they were likely ever to get, and they were laughing, and it was his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. His mind was still roiling, angry and possessive and hard, but the shame mixed with it easily. He fought the urge to cover his face with his hands.

"We'll talk later, Commander," she said. Her voice was firm but kind, with no rancor or condemnation, but he still stepped back like he'd been slapped. A whole year of Commanders and Lady Seekers, and nothing beyond. No more "Cullens" he could practically taste on her tongue, no more laughing "Princesses" in the night. They wouldn't dare it. No place would be dark enough to cover the risk of their discovery.

He turned to leave, needing to go somewhere else, away from all of this confusion. Skyhold suddenly felt small and crowded, and he no longer had the person next to him that made all of that go away. But just before he left, he heard a muttered, "If I'd known those were the perks of command, I would have signed up for my Lord's guard a long time ago," and he spun back, furious beyond all reason.

Cassandra's hands found his arm, holding him back, and a dim part of him knew he should let her overpower him to gain back some of what he'd taken from her. A larger, feral, dark part of him searched the faces of the recruits without mercy. "Who said that?" he demanded.

Bull, who'd been astonishingly quiet through everything that had happened, stepped forward. "Don't worry Commander. I know," he said lazily.

Cullen waited, clenching and unclenching his fists while the Qunari walked slowly down the line. He stopped in front of a solidly built, defiant man with the open expression that spoke to an Orlesian upbringing. The ones in the masks never learned how to hide their feelings well enough, unless they became true players of the Game. Which was how the true players of the Game liked it to work.

"I'd ask your name," said Bull, "but I don't think you'll be with us long enough to make it worth my time."

"You can't kick me out for saying what we were all thinking."

"Were you all thinking that?" asked Bull with seemingly genuine curiosity, and a chorus of "No sers" came back quickly. "Yeah, I figured."

He turned back to the Orlesian. "Now, to you. First, I can kick you out for anything I damn well want to, at any time. You think you're going to stop me?" he said. He grinned as he crossed his arms and somehow seemed to grow even taller than he already was. "Second, that wasn't what I meant. You'll be dead in minutes in any real fight."

"I'm an excellent swordsman, _ser_ ," said the potentially suicidal recruit.

"Only an idiot thinks the battle turns on his blade," said Bull. "The meat of any fight is the time when you look at the enemy, see what he is, understand what you are, and put yourself in a position to win." He shifted slightly and opened his stance to Cullen and Cassandra. "Is the Commander an enemy you would want to engage, recruits?"

A murmur of dissent rose, and Bull smiled. "Of course not. He's strong, he's fast, he's experienced, and, most importantly, he's clearly pissed off enough to kill an archdemon without blinking. You meet him, or someone like him, on the battlefield, you find another part of the battlefield until I get there," he said. "That's lesson one."

Cullen relaxed slightly. Bull was turning this into a lesson, into something that wouldn't simply be a jealous Commander fraternizing in the ranks. He settled back, still brittle, but no longer on the edge of violence. Cassandra took her hands from his arm, and the loss of her touch left him breathless.

Bull continued without acknowledging them. "And what about the Lady Seeker?"

Another murmur of dissent, but not so strong. Not so sure. It had the flavor of being expected rather than being believed. Bull chuckled. "And this is why you need the training we'll drag you through. The Commander is an obvious threat, easy to avoid - except for the truly stupid among you," he said, nodding towards the reddening Orlesian. "No skill required. But the Seeker is the enemy that will kill you, in the end. She'll be the one you don't see, because you looked past her to the next fight. The fight you're never going to have. Because you're dead.

"But don't worry. By the time we're done, you'll know what to look for," Bull added. "Starting now. Seeker. Time for a bout." He clapped his hand on the loud-mouthed recruit's shoulder. "Let's see this man's excellent sword work."

Cullen breathed out as Bull looked at him meaningfully. It was time to leave. They clearly had this well in hand, and he was no longer needed for the lesson. He spared one glance for Cassandra, who was calm and focused for all she wasn't looking at him, before turning towards the stairs to the battlements.

As he walked away, he heard the Orlesian man say, "But she's not even armored!"

Bull laughed at the edge of Cullen's hearing. "Why should she weigh herself down for someone like you?"


	3. Toy Soldiers

"Welcome back," said Dorian. He sat up on the couch, where he'd been dozing by the look of it. He smoothed his hands through his hair and blinked. "That was a faster meeting than I expected."

"Did you know what they were going to tell me?" asked Cullen in a deceptively mild voice. He'd considered going back to the War Table, but what was the point? Yelling at them wouldn't change anything. Cassandra was the one he needed to convince.

The mage winced. "Not with any specificity. But given the ambassador's comprehensive and terrifying new campaign to weave the Inquisition into the very fabric of Thedas, and what they'd discussed with my own self, I suspected."

Cullen glared. Dorian, for all he was Tevinter, a mage, and utterly dismissive of anything serious, was a friend. It surprised Cullen how betrayed he felt by the man's silence.

"So who are they asking you to marry?" asked Dorian.

"Me?" Cullen blinked. "No one. Maker's breath, I can't even imagine." He snorted. "Besides, I'm not sure my name would garner much interest in the strongholds they look to capture. Josephine emphasized my appeal among the _common_ man."

"More likely they simply knew you'd refuse," said Dorian. "You always were the sensible one of us all. But the Commander of the Inquisition is a valuable piece on the chess board. I'll be very surprised if she leaves you to molder."

Cullen sat in the chair across from the mage with a sigh. "Commander is just a title. I can resign it whenever I choose. It's not something I was born to," he said. Not like royal blood.

"Yes, that would explain it. You are so prone to cutting away the things that displease you. And the best dictatorships never gamble with their popular and effective military leader," said Dorian. He grew serious. "What's the trouble, then?"

"Cassandra," said Cullen. He closed his eyes against the fresh wave of anger and pain. It wasn't that she didn't love him. He was certain of that, if nothing else. No, it was how easily she could set it aside when asked. And the terror of how far she might really be willing to go, in the end. If she could do this with such a light heart, why not more? His stomach twisted and rebelled against the thought.

"Ah. Of course, she's Nevarran royalty, isn't she? Somehow it's hard to remember that about a woman you've seen slice people's heads off so efficiently. Well, when it's at her own hand, anyway," said Dorian.

Cullen didn't smile. "They said you'd agreed to an Imperial alliance," he said. He opened his eyes and pinned the man with his gaze. "Would you really marry a woman just to serve this cause? Someone you didn't love?"

The mage shifted a little. They'd never spoken explicitly about his preference for men, though it was hardly a secret. Cullen suspected he was simply used to leaving it unsaid rather than feeling any concern about a Fereldan's reaction. But Cullen needed to understand the mind of someone who'd been raised to rule. The Imperium had no royalty, but Dorian was the closest thing to it.

"If I did, it wouldn't be for the Inquisition, as precious as I find you all. My country needs a healer. They are on the precipice of change, and I, for one, wish it to be a change for the better," said Dorain. "I believe I could do that. And I love Tevinter, though you southern barbarians find so much to despise in it."

Cullen said nothing, and Dorian raised his hand in apology. "Achieving that goal, being the instrument of change, will be vastly simpler with a wife from the old guard. I'm charming, of course, and I can win anyone over given enough time, but proof of my adherence to the old while ushering in the new would go a long way."

"But you wouldn't love her," said Cullen.

The other man shrugged. "Nor she I, most likely. Love is something I've never felt with anyone, man or woman," he said. He smiled a little at Cullen's sound of disbelief. "Attraction, to be sure. And infatuations, young fancies that were no more substantial than the wind on the air. And I'll admit those certainly never found their way to any women of my acquaintance. But if love is something beyond me, then marriage may not be. In fact, it might be simpler that way."

He shook his head. "At least my father will be happy about that, even if his legacy can still go hang." Dorian leaned over across the table and gently touched Cullen's knee. "To answer your question, yes, I might marry where I don't love, if it were the right marriage. I have nothing else to compare it to, and perhaps wedded bliss would not be so grave as all that. However, your lady never would. She knows love. And she is much too romantic to marry for advantage in the light of that knowledge."

Cullen was grudgingly agreeing when a knock came at the open door. He turned to see a runner from the gates. "Commander, the new company from Ferelden is here. Their captain requests to speak with you. And he wishes to know where the rest of his soldiers can settle themselves," said the woman.

"Tell him that they will quarter leeward of the walls, in the empty space beside the tanner, until another squad leaves on patrol," said Cullen. "And send him up."

She saluted in acknowledgment and ran off. Cullen turned to stand and saw Dorian unabashedly grooming himself. He raised his eyebrows, and Dorian paused in the artistic tousling of his hair. "I may be considering a marriage of convenience, but I am not yet wed or dead, Commander. I prefer to give any new members of the Inquisition a proper welcome," he said, but his smile was more hesitant than usual. "However, shall I leave you to your captain?"

"No, I'd like to see how he reacts to a Tevinter presence," said Cullen. He walked to his desk and settled himself behind it. "If you don't mind."

Dorian brightened. "Not at all."

* * *

When the door opened, the scene was nicely set. Cullen scribbled with a focus that was only partially faked, and Dorian sat on the couch, playing with a crackle of lightning around his fingers. Every Templar instinct Cullen had was screaming at him to control such a careless mage, so an unprepared soldier was likely to be even more startled.

But when the voice came, it was smooth and unafraid. "Commander Rutherford?"

Cullen looked up slowly, trying to clear his mind of expectations and judge the man honestly. His own instincts were solid, when he allowed them to surface, but he'd never mastered overcoming a pre-conceived idea.

In this case, he was pleased. The man was medium-height and dark, only a few years younger than himself, and with a weather-beaten face that spoke to experience in the field, not just in the fancy mail. Though his face was properly blank, there were lines around his eyes that showed good humor outside of service. Most importantly, he kept the mage in his sightlines while maintaining a deferential pose to his new commander. Not an easy task.

Cullen stood. "You must be Captain Flynn, courtesy of King Alistair. Welcome to the Inquisition," he said. The man saluted, and Cullen returned it. "I'm Commander Rutherford, as you guessed, and this is Dorian Pavus, of Tevinter."

"Tevinter?" asked the captain in broad Fereldan accents. He narrowed his eyes at them both. "I thought there was a war on with the Imperium."

"Wars seem to end quickly with the Commander in charge," said Dorian with a laugh. The energy around his fingers vanished, and he leaned forward with a wicked grin. "Captain. Fereldan geography and anthropology is a hobby of mine, and I pride myself that I can tell the origin of its citizens to the nearest village with only a look. Will you indulge me?"

The captain shrugged, but a light smile played around his lips. Cullen looked at them both in turn. Dorian hated Ferelden. The last time Ellana had gone to the Hinterlands, he'd practically chained himself to the gate in an effort to stay at Skyhold.

Neither man seemed to notice his confusion. Dorian tapped a finger to his chin. "Based on your nose, certainly somewhere in the south. Your shoulders speak to a nearby lake, but the slight tilt of your left index finger indicates a neighboring mountain range. The west of Ferelden then. And of course, your hips reveal volumes about you, Captain," he said. Cullen was close to cutting in, to ask where this was going, when Dorian added, "Honnleath. Almost definitely. Am I correct?"

Cullen crossed his arms and sighed. "Dorian, I know you consider us provincial, but not everyone from Ferelden is from the same village," he said. He looked back to the captain to apologize for whatever insults his friend's game might have given, but instead of the scowl he expected, the man's face was creased with a broad grin.

"Exactly correct, messere. I applaud your extraordinary insight into my homeland, though I suspect you're as full of shit as the sties we Fereldans are said to live in," he said. He paused. "Also, I'm not sure Cullen's quite caught up with events."

That last part was certainly right. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and waited for something to make sense. Anything.

Dorian shrugged and crossed his legs. "He looks exactly like your sister, you know."

As if she'd been summoned by the spell of his words, a figure flew through the door. "Darren?" asked Mia.

Darren? His brother? Cullen gaped as the man in front of him collapsed into laughter and threw his arms around Mia. "Hello, my dear. Here I am, as promised. A few more dents and scratches, but nothing disfiguring."

"That's certainly true, " said Dorian.

His sister leaned back and swatted the captain who wasn't a captain across the arm. "Don't joke about that," she said, but she was smiling like a proud mother. "Oh, look at you. So handsome!"

"Again, I find myself in complete agreement," said Dorian with a slow smile. "Your siblings are quite intelligent, Commander. Brains, brawn, and beauty. It seems I've unfairly maligned your country all this time."

"To be fair, the Rutherfords have always been above average," said Darren. "Though my brother has most cruelly raised expectations for the rest of us. I'll never match his height, and I've only made it to Sergeant so far in rank."

"Perhaps in brawn he's uncatchable, but in brains and beauty I think there's room for a spirited debate on the winner," said Dorian. "Which I can assure you will occur at the tavern later this evening."

That was quite enough. "Everyone stop," said Cullen, injecting his voice with his best battlefield thunder. In this instance the audience was less than impressed - Mia put her hands on her hips, Dorian smothered a laugh, and Darren just looked nonplussed - but it did get everyone to stop talking and look at him. He turned his gaze on Darren. "You said you were Captain Flynn."

His brother grinned, then, and it was Alice's trouble on a male face. "No, you said I must be. Who am I to argue with my Commander? Or my older brother, for that matter?" he asked. He sobered a little when Cullen didn't relax. "Please don't blame the captain for this. I knew he was nervous about meeting you, and I told him that you'd enjoy the joke."

Dorian choked back another laugh, and even Mia snorted. Darren crossed his arms. "Well, perhaps I exaggerated. The stories of your stoicism are legend. But we live in hope," he said. "One of these days they'll tell a new story, about the time the great Commander Rutherford cracked a smile."

"I smile plenty," he muttered, but no one was listening.

"Believe it or not, in comparison to his lady, he's the comedian of the army," said Dorian. Mia gave the mage a disapproving look but didn't disagree.

Darren's face lit up. "Ah yes, the lovely Cassandra. Do I get to meet her? Please say yes. I'm dying of curiosity."

Cullen's heart sank. Of all the days for a family gathering in his office, plus one Seeker, this wasn't it. He didn't know if she was angry with him or not. He didn't know if he was angry with her. What they needed was a week alone, not a few hours navigating the minefield of the full Rutherford contingent. Even he wasn't sure if he was ready for that. They hadn't all been together since he'd left for Kinloch twenty years ago, and clearly Mia and Darren were operating on a completely different level of information than he was.

"How do you even know about her?" he asked.

"He's a much better correspondent than you," said Mia. "So he is rewarded with information."

Which explained why he hadn't known Darren was in the new company. His mouth twisted sourly, but Mia looked unrepentant. She had absolutely no sentimental feelings for a brother to work on in some matters. Mostly in the matters where she was sure she was dispensing the universe's justice.

Dorian stood and stepped forward. "Why don't I leave you to your family business? I can locate your children and husband," he said, nodding to Mia, "as well as Alice."

"Just follow the trail of aggravation for the last," said Cullen. "And tell her she owes me a new pair of pants."

His siblings perked up as the mage laughed. "Of course."

"And don't forget Cassandra," said Darren. "She's basically family, too, from what Mia says."

"I could never forget such a lady," said Dorian, but he slanted a quick look at Cullen. He nodded slightly. What possible reason could he give for excluding her?

Mia held up a hand. "Why not invite your girlfriend as well, Darren? The nice one in your company you wrote about a few months ago?"

"Oh, that ended awhile ago. She met a blacksmith in a western town and resigned her commission on the spot. I threw his last-night-single party," said Darren. Mia sighed unhappily, but his brother cocked an eyebrow at Dorian. "Think there'll be anyone of interest at your tavern debate tonight?"

"Besides myself? I'm sure we can unearth a few souls," said Dorian. He sailed out of the room with a wave.

"Interesting allies you have, Cullen," said Darren. He stretched out on the newly vacated couch. "Now, what did Alice do with your pants?"

* * *

In the end Alice, as well as Mia's husband Brandon and their children, showed up well before Cassandra, and they had plenty of time for a family reunion that wasn't fraught with a secret wife who was preparing to negotiate her marriage to another man. Which, to his annoyance, made his life sound ludicrous, even inside his own head. Still, Cullen suspected the reprieve was by Dorian's design and made a note to send him a bottle of wine for his trouble. Ellana would know what he liked.

So he was grateful for that, and that he didn't have to say much. Beyond Alice's arrival with a pair of yellow checkered tights straight out of Sera's collection - his "replacement pants", she said - he'd never been less in the spotlight. Peter, Katrine and Alistair peppered their younger uncle with questions and begged for his opinion on everything under the sun. Unlike Cullen, Darren had visited home regularly while he served. Cullen had left at thirteen and returned at thirty-three, a stranger. Darren held familiarity to them that he couldn't match, even now.

Mia was no less interested in talk, interrogating Darren mercilessly about the last meeting his brother had attended with the King, even though Darren argued that standing in the same room with a man for fifteen minutes while other people talked hardly counted as a personal connection. Their older sister didn't care. She would have interrogated a person who'd simply walked through Denerim's market if it would give her a new insight into their sovereign's life, though Cullen had never understood her fascination. King Alistair was a good man, as royalty went, but his wife, the former Lady Cousland, was by far the more impressive of the pair.

All of this settled over him easily enough, and Cullen was content to listen. The ache only came with Alice, and the old stories they all laughed over that were new to him. Alice had been four when Cullen joined the Templars, mere background noise to her older siblings. Clearly in the years after he was gone they'd formed a new unit. One that didn't include him. Even Brandon knew their lives better than he did.

He tried not to be bitter and mostly succeeded. It had been his choice, his need, to leave, and it wasn't their fault he'd done so. But on this, of all days, to feel a stranger among his own family was a hard tonic to swallow. Still, an hour later he was almost persuaded to smile at their memories of Honnleath summers, harvests, and plantings, and he remembered along with them picking and eating apples until they were sick. He was on the verge of contributing a memory of his own, the time their mother had chased a sparrow through the house with a shovel, when the door opened and Cassandra finally came in.

The words died on his lips as he looked at her, trying to gauge her mood. She didn't seem surprised by the number of people in the room, thank the Maker, but other than that he could read nothing in her face. She might have been there to tell him it had all been a mistake or to move all of her things back to her room over the armory immediately. The fact that he couldn't tell paralyzed him, even as the eyes he loved so dearly roved over his face. He knew he should rise, go to her, introduce her, but he sat instead and did nothing at all.

Alice had no such compunctions. "Cassandra!" she cried. "I was beginning to worry you weren't coming."

"Forgive me," she said, focusing on his family. "Dorian only found me a few minutes ago. But I don't mean to interrupt."

She sounded more uncertain than he'd heard her in a long time, but his younger sister didn't seem to notice. "Don't be an idiot! You're practically family yourself by now."

At that, Cassandra glanced at him again, and he tried to keep his face as neutral as hers. He'd made his move. She knew his feelings on the matter. He would take his cues from her.

Alice added with teasing grin, "Though I had heard rumors of a fight this morning. I'm sure it was his fault, whatever it was, and I'm glad it hasn't soured you on us."

Cullen started, then, and a blush spread across his cheeks. What was he supposed to say to that? It was truth and lie, all in one, and this was no time to get into the intricacies of things imperfectly known and not at all understood.

Mia lifted a questioning eyebrow in his direction, and he gave her the most convincing smile he could muster. If anything that made her more concerned, but Cassandra was already murmuring quiet dissent about a fight. She didn't look at all discomposed, but she didn't look at him either. The air in the room grew thick and awkward, and Cullen tried to come up with something, anything, to say.

Alice spoke once again, in a slightly more confused tone, "Since Cullen seems to have lost his voice, I'll do the introductions. Cassandra, meet my other, much handsomer brother Darren."

Katrine giggled as Darren rose with a flourish. "Lady Pentaghast, I'm so happy to meet you at last. You're as beautiful as they say. And any woman with the fortitude to love a stick-in-the-mud like Cullen must be a force of nature," he said. He bowed over her hand in a mockery of Orlesian manners. He added in a stage whisper, "If you tire of him, just let me know. I'm at your service, my lady."

He grinned and his sisters laughed, but Cullen barely heard them. Jealousy roared through his veins, less at his brother and more at the faceless, nameless men who would come with the same pretty speeches and words, the gestures and flattery. Darren wasn't serious. They would be. And Cassandra was rolling her eyes and answering with a half-smile that burned him, and it was all more than he could take.

Cullen stood, grabbed his heavy fur cloak, and moved to the side door in a few quick movements. "I'm sorry, time has gotten away from me. I have some business to take care of," he called over his shoulder. Even that many words took an effort that nearly killed him.

"Cullen, come on, I was kidding!" said Darren.

Cullen flung open the door and left without looking back.


	4. Cave of Wonders

He found Ellana in the atrium, staring at the frescos with a wistful expression on her face. She was probably supposed to be reading the stack of papers next to her, but she seemed lost in her own memories instead. He slowed and studied her, her pale appearance taking him out of his own anger. Maker, she looked ill. Her cheeks were hollowed and utterly without color, and he realized that at the War Table and on the throne, when she was the Inquisitor, her determined face was as much pose as reality. Now she was only a woman, and she was so motionless that it seemed she would never move again.

Until she saw him. She jumped up, dislodging some of the papers, and came towards him. "Cullen. Are you okay? I've been worried," she said. She ran her eyes over his face. "I heard what happened in the yard. If I'd known we would upset you like that…"

How could she not have known? Leliana he could understand. Icy and professional, she would never consider love paramount to anything. Even Josephine, with her negotiator's mind, might not recognize a world that saw love for what it was, rather than another tool to be wielded. But Ellana knew what love was, in the bones. And she knew him.

He shook his head. More likely she'd known but had hoped it would work out. When it came to decisions, Ellana was the ultimate optimist. "Inquisitor. I need to go on patrol," he said. "Please." The request was somewhat perfunctory, because he was going to leave anyway, but it would still be better if he kept up the appearance of duty. He'd been a poor enough example to the troops already.

Her shadowed eyes widened. "Are you sure? You haven't done that in ages," she said. She bit her lip. "Does Cassandra know?"

"No," he said. A burst of laughter rang out from the library above, and he ground his teeth at the intrusion. "Please. I can't be here now."

"You shouldn't run away. Talk to her."

"We'll only fight. I don't want to fight. I want to think."

She seemed to argue with herself and eventually sighed, though whether in victory or defeat he couldn't tell. "Very well. Go on patrol. One night, you understand?"

"Of course," he said. "Tell her that I'll be back tomorrow. If she asks."

"Cullen. You know she'll ask. She loves you."

He shrugged noncommittally, but he prayed she was right. He knew it was the height of adolescence to run away and hope Cassandra would worry about him, even feel his loss and reconsider, but he took comfort in the knowledge that it was also something he needed to do for himself. Patrol was a code for him, a way to let the Inquisitor know he was losing control. An assignment outside the walls let him leave Skyhold without the world knowing his weaknesses.

They hadn't used their code since his lyrium withdrawals. He hadn't needed it. Until today.

He turned to leave, then stopped. "Oh, and there's a Captain Flynn somewhere near the tanner's whose company needs an orientation. Send Lieutenant Renson. She has a knack for assessing new people diplomatically. And I think they'll want to go to the tavern tonight. Dorian's planning something."

"Alright," said Ellana, puzzled. "The guards said the captain met with you already."

He chuckled without mirth. "There was a bit of a mix-up. It won't be hard to sort out," he said. He thought about telling her to see a healer, or to suggest she retire to her room, but she never liked it when he treated her like something that could break. "I'll be back tomorrow."

* * *

The cave lay ten miles away, sheltered in the crevice of a join in the rocks that didn't exist if a traveler wasn't looking for it. The space inside was large, large enough to hold a horse and sleeping supplies, which was good because it was well-outside of Skyhold's lingering weather protection. The fur of his cloak helped chase away the bitter ice of the afternoon, but Cullen was grateful when a sweep of the cave found it clean and empty of threats. The sooner he built a fire, the sooner he would only be cold on the inside.

He did notice signs of a recent kill and found rations of food, piles of wood, and crystal wards to place when he slept. A rueful smile crossed his lips. The cave was supposed to be a secret, a place that was only his, but of course nothing was secret in the Inquisition. Scouts had originally found the place, after all, and every potential hideout had to be checked regularly to make sure it was clear of intruders. More importantly, the Commander couldn't go off where no one could find him, no matter how urgent his need, and obviously his captains kept the place neat and pest-free. Or someone else was using it for their own escape. Either way he was alone and unthreatened, and that was enough for now.

Cullen placed the fire near the entrance, far enough from the horse to avoid panic but sheltered enough to stop detection. He sat with his back to it and stared out into the frozen expanse. The mouth faced east, over his homeland, and even though the mountains hemmed in the view, he pretended he could see all the way to Denerim and the market, or Kinloch and the ruined Circle, or Honnleath and the pond that was his peace. To something familiar. Anything at all.

His breath drifted across the snow as he tried to pull some of the calmness of the world into him. His tension slowly eased, the press of people and things and stone that was Skyhold vanished, and his mind quieted as it spread across the open space. Except for the faint huffs of his horse, he was alone.

But never truly alone. When his heart was finally still and open, he closed his eyes and began to pray. First it was the portions of the Chant for thankfulness, for peace, for devotion, then the prayers for the men and women he commanded, and for his friends and family he could never get to do anything he wanted at all. Snow began to fall, brushing lightly over his cheeks as he worked through the supplications and meditations that brought him to himself. And then, finally, at the end, the prayer was for him. _Maker_ , he thought, _Andraste, don't let her do this. Show her another way. You led me to her when I was lost. Please. I still need her._

He shook his head, knowing this wasn't right. It wasn't a true prayer if it was simply begging for what he wanted, but he couldn't stop himself. _I need her,_ he thought again uselessly.

He opened his eyes and she was there.

A half-mile off, struggling through the now-heavy snow on her mount, looking for all the world like the rawest Antivan recruit, but there. The shape of her was a thing he always knew.

His lip curled. He shouldn't be able to see her shape at all. Where was her cloak, her heavy boots, her mail? For Andraste's sake, she was dressed like a noblewoman taking a scenic ride through the summer dells. He pushed himself up with a growl and grabbed his own cloak, striding out into the freezing snow with a hiss.

He didn't dare wander too far, lest he be caught up in the same drifts and banks, but he watched her with tense eyes until her mount was close enough to grab. They made a spectacle, he was sure, on their way back to the cave - him pulling an exhausted horse, her protesting that she was perfectly capable of finishing her journey on her own - but they made it. The horse wasn't keen on walking past his fire, but the presence of Cullen's own horse seemed to calm the mount enough to make it workable.

As soon as the animals were secure, he whirled back to the shivering, indignant woman at the entrance. In a few strides he was beside her, his cloak around her shoulders and her body pressed against his warmth. "What were you thinking?" he demanded. "This is the Frostbacks, not Val Royeaux. You're barely wearing gloves."

"What was _I_ thinking? What were you thinking?" she asked through chattering teeth. "You just left! Without even a word."

"You're hardly in a position to judge me for silence, Cassandra."

"So you choose to pay me back? A though you are a child who claims he owes another a punch because he received one first?" Cullen couldn't see her face, but he could picture the exasperated look she wore.

"No! Like I'm a man who needs to think. Alone. I don't need your permission to make decisions. You certainly don't ask me about yours."

"And so I was supposed to worry and pine in the fortress until you decided to return?" she asked. She pulled back, not enough to lose his body heat but enough to stare him down. "I do not pine, Commander. I act."

He snarled. "Don't call me that."

There must have been something in his voice, some hint of agony, because her eyes softened just a little. Her hand, too-lightly gloved, reached up between them to stroke his cheek. "Cullen," she said in that voice that was rich and exotic and totally hers.

A lump rose in his throat, and he wanted to step away and gather his anger again. But she was still shivering, cold and wet, and he didn't dare leave her to her chill. Part of him knew that he should insist on removing her wet clothes to help her warm more quickly, but if he did that there would be nothing in Thedas that could keep his hands off of her. Instead he drew her back to settle against the wall, where the fire's full power could reach them, and tucked her to his side.

Her head settled into its usual place on his chest, and he sighed against his will. She was something familiar, but newly dangerous as well. He rubbed slow circles on her back, exhausted. "How did you even know where I was? Did Ellana tell you?" It would be like her, to meddle.

She shook her head against him. "No. When you took your cloak, I knew you where you would be. But it took me some time to extract myself from your worried relations," she said. "And to convince Dennet to give me my horse once the snow was falling."

Bless the man for trying. "But no one outside of my command knows of this place."

"Did you think I would have let you leave Skyhold without knowing your destination? At the height of the war? With your withdrawals?" she asked. Her arms tightened around him. "I always knew where you were."

His heart beat against his chest painfully. She'd loved him so completely, so fiercely, and he'd never known. And now that he did - "But you're leaving me now."

"No," she said. "That's not what this is."

"Isn't it? A year of negotiations and invitations? Parties and dresses and engagements? A husband won't exactly suit."

"Perhaps not a husband. But a lover is another matter," she said. "The negotiations will take place via letters, with notes and offers that will have little to do with me. Josephine will handle them all. Nothing needs to change, beyond when the guests are here."

But he heard the doubt in her voice. "Can you risk the insincerity?" he asked quietly. "If it's important, if you'll do it at all, it should be done perfectly. And you know you're incapable of lying."

Cassandra stiffened, and he knew he'd judged correctly. "Why is it so important?" he continued, trying to keep his anger leashed. His hand stilled on her back and tightened into a fist. "Nevarra is nothing. If we're worried about it rising up, let me fight it. My forces are more than ready. I'll send in Templars and mages and soldiers and scouts. I'll make them submit."

"You can't." She pushed away and stared at him with new intensity. "We can't attack them."

"Why not?"

She looked away and breathed in deeply. "Because we have enough enemies," she said. "Tevinter will see a new battle as a sign to return to their war."

He snorted. "The Imperium has exhausted their power. I could bring them to heel at the point of my own sword, if I had to. Alone," he said. He'd do it, he knew. Anything to stop this madness from happening.

"We must ally with Nevarra," she insisted. "It's important for Thedas, and for the good of the Inquisition. I am its vassal. A soldier for the cause. I must do my part." She leaned forward when he raised his eyebrows and said with more emphasis, "It's important."

He heard the inexorable finality of it, the tone of decisions made that he knew too well. Her face held no uncertainty, only steady determination. She'd been given an order, a critical one by the sound of it, and orders defined them both. He'd lost.

"As you say," he said. It hurt to look at her, so he stared at the fire. Its crackling and their shallow breaths were the only sounds in the cave, and he was grateful she'd moved away from him. Far enough that her scent was lost in the smoke and the wind that swirled between and around their silence.

"What will we tell everyone?" he asked finally.

"Tell everyone?"

"About why we're no longer… why we parted." He cleared his throat to fight away the emotion thickening it. "My family will need some reason, at least. I'm guessing we can't let it be widely known it's temporary." Assuming it was.

Then there was uncertainty in her lines, something she hadn't considered. "I don't know," she said slowly. "We must blame me, I think. Say that I am ambitious. Anxious for alliance."

"And that I'm not good enough to satisfy those ambitions?" He laughed once, a wild, uncontrolled sound. "It's always best to stay close to the truth in these things, I suppose."

"Cullen," she began, but he shook his head to forestall her next words. He didn't want to be comforted.

He pushed himself up and began to pace. "How can this be so damned easy for you?" he asked in low tones. "If it were me, if they'd commanded me, I never could have…" He spun back to look at her, strong and unyielding on the ground. "I love you too much to even think it. You're my wife," he finished, broken and small.

Her lips trembled. "Would you prefer me to cry?" she asked. "To lose control? To admit fear of what must be done?"

"Yes," he said. Andraste help him but he needed to see her pain, just to know it was there.

"Very well," she said. She dropped her eyes to the cave's rocky floor as her tears began to fall. "It's not easy. It is hard, and harder still, and a duty I loathe. I thought if I didn't show you this pain it would be easier, but if you desire to know then know. Hate me, if you need it. I understand. Ellana has given her command, and I will obey. But I do not wish to do this."

He dropped to his knees, perversely desperate to take away the sting of what he'd begged her to give him. "Then don't," he said as he wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear and spoke rapidly. "Stay with me. If you love me, refuse them."

He felt her shiver again, not from the cold, and he realized he'd given up the field before he'd exhausted himself in battle. He shifted until her side was pressed against him and ran his fingers down her back. They found the hem of her shirt and slid underneath as if of their own will.

"Stay with me," he repeated. He pitched his voice at a rumble that made her breath quicken. She arched into the hand slipping across her skin, and he kissed the space below her ear reverently. "I could never hate you. I love you. You have no idea how I love you. The world can burn itself to ashes as long as I have you. Like this. Always mine."

Her tears fell faster as her breath caught, and he moved his free hand to wipe them from her cheek. He cupped it when he was done and brought her lips to his gently, insistently, and she parted for him without hesitation. A needy sound tore itself from her throat, but he stayed soft and loving as his tongue explored her. His roaming hand provided a counterpoint to his tenderness, squeezing and sliding and bringing her closer. He pulled away only when he realized her own hands were on her shirt and leathers, tugging them up and trying to remove them without breaking contact.

When they were cleared and discarded, he immediately brought his fingers to her breast and circled her lightly. "Beautiful," he breathed, turning his attentions back to her ear. When she tilted her head back and presented her throat, he claimed it for his own, nipping and biting to the join of her shoulder. "I still dream of you every night, even when you're next to me. I wake in the darkness desperate to bury myself inside of you and hear you call my name. Every night, and it can never be enough. You ruin me."

"Cullen," she whispered.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her nipple to make her gasp. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, and he smiled. "Cold? I'll keep you warm, my love. Forever. Leave with me. We'll go to Antiva. I'll learn to buy and sell, you'll teach assassins to fight, and we'll make love every night under the stars."

She huffed a laugh, light as a single flake of snow, and grabbed at his shirt. Her eyes opened to drink him in when he wrested it from her hands and drew it up and away. He leaned back to let her stare, loving the way her gaze traveled over him, the way it hitched and stuttered and craved him.

Eventually he couldn't take it any longer and pulled her back to him with a growl. Her breast was lovely and perfect against his palm. "I won't ever wear a shirt. I'll join the Avaar if I have to. And I'll give you this," he said, running a hand over her stomach. "Children. Ours. A dozen, if you want. More. A family. Yours and mine."

He kissed her again, no longer gentle but rough and demanding. She straddled his lap, close enough to feel his hardness against her core even through their remaining clothing. She rolled her hips against him, and it was his turn to gasp. Her skin was hot and pliant against his chest and beneath his hands. When her own fingers found his hair and wound into it, he knew he was winning. "I'll be enough for you. I swear it," he groaned between kisses.

Her hand tightened possessively and pulled him down by the roots of his hair in exquisite torture, scraping the stubble of his jaw along her cheek. Her hips sped up, and he joined her, finding a rhythm that gave her more friction. He moaned when she pulled herself closer, pressing even more tightly to his cock. "That's it, sweetheart. Feel how much I want you," he whispered. "Just you."

She shuddered and ground herself into him, and he held her hips with bruising force as she rocked. He bit his lip to stave off his own need - he knew he wanted to be inside of her - but she was quickly losing herself on top of him, and it was impossible to listen to her desperate noises and not be close to begging. He murmured more wordless encouragement against her neck, licking the place where her heartbeat throbbed. As his teeth scraped her skin, he felt her gathering into herself, tightening like a bowstring. One last plea from him and she cried out, trembling and cresting over him.

She collapsed against his chest as her motions slowed. "Cullen," she said again, dazedly, as if it were the only word she knew.

He hummed happily. "Me," he said. He hooked his fingers around her leggings and tugged them away, slower than he wanted. He could smell the familiar scent of her pleasure, and he almost lost control completely. But he wanted her to be with him on this, side-by-side, and he waited until she raised herself up to let him uncover her. She fumbled at his pants clumsily, and he grabbed her hands and brought them to his mouth. He kissed each finger, trying to ignore what was straining against his trousers for her touch. "Let me."

He wrapped one arm around her waist to keep her steady and surged his hips off the ground. He drew his pants down in one quick motion, hissing when he was finally free. The energy of his roll brought her flush to him again, and Maker she was so hot and ready to be had.

It was her turn to kiss him, to wind her hands between his back and the smooth wall behind him while she rubbed herself against his length. He kept talking to her as she did, trying to give her understanding even while he rapidly lost his own. "Cassandra. I'm yours. My life, my heart, my body. Everything I am. Don't ever leave me. I need you so much." His voice fled when he slipped inside of her unexpectedly, and he choked back the cry that echoed around them. She hissed in a breath, and they both stilled their movements.

His wife traced his cheek with her thumb, and through the smoky haze of their desire he saw sadness. His throat tightened. "Please," he said, but it made no difference. She wanted him, and she loved him, but there was a hard place inside of her that he hadn't reached even now. The part that was for the Inquisition alone. It wouldn't be turned aside.

The tears fell again, this time not just hers, and she finally spoke. "I love you. Remember that. Always and only you."

Her lips found his with a surety he no longer felt. But she moved just a little, just enough, and he exploded in a crowning wave. His release came with a clench of his heart that was no less agony for being mingled with pleasure. She kissed him throughout his end, sending him strength and love through every painful place they met.

* * *

Cullen slept with his arms around her, when he slept at all, but when the morning came he rolled away and rose alone. Good-byes shouldn't linger, as his mother had always said. If they were going to survive this, he couldn't afford sentimentality. She needed him to carry his own burdens. And if he loved her when it was easy, he should love her even more when it was difficult. There was no other path.

Besides, he had something he needed to say. They'd groomed and readied their mounts, banked the fire, and were preparing to set out into the crisp dawn when he stopped her. He looked for the hard place inside of him, the Templar. The soldier who did what was needed. It was there and waiting to be used. "One more thing," he said.

The tears had ended long ago, but he saw wariness in her eyes. "Yes?"

"I release you from your vows," he said.

Her mouth dropped. "I'm sorry?"

"We're no longer married," he said. "It will make it easier for you." He was sickly proud of how in control he sounded.

"Cullen," she said, and he flinched. "I do not wish to be released. There's no need."

He hoped that was true. But he still shook his head mulishly. "You're a terrible liar. If you want to convince people that you're eager for a husband -" His voice hitched, but he continued with effort, "- your words have to be as close to reality as they can be."

She started to argue, but he held up his hand. "And it will be hard enough to watch you without knowing that… anyway, the Maker will understand."

Her gaze flicked up to the sky, then back to his face, which he was sure looked just as stubborn as her own. She sighed. "Very well," she said. She led her horse out of the mouth of the cave, then turned back. "But you have no power to release my heart."

They stared at each other for a long minute, until he broke the mood with a deliberately casual smile. Let the soldier out. "Maybe you'll enjoy it more than you think. All of that courting and romance. Leliana says that every woman likes being a princess sometimes," he said. Maker knew he'd never been good at noble manners. Or giving her the consideration she deserved.

"I suspect that's only true for those who may leave it behind at the end of an evening," said Cassandra. "I don't care for the gilding of a cage."

He shrugged. "A handsome prince makes the cage more palatable, so I hear," he said. "They're well-known for it." A joke, and his greatest fear. She was a romantic woman under the skin, for all she was a warrior.

She narrowed her eyes. "Royalty is rarely handsome, in reality."

"I don't know. People seem to like Alistair," he said as he swung himself up on his horse. "And you're the most beautiful woman in Thedas."

He swore to himself. _Focus, Cullen. Be what's needed._

Fortunately she let it pass. "Perhaps you will enjoy being the sought-after bachelor again, also. For a time," she said. She was mounting as well, so he couldn't see her face. "At the least you will have all of your pillows to yourself again."

A cold and empty bed, without her. There was nothing worse in the world.

When she wheeled around to motion him ahead, the soldier smiled at her again. "Yes, that will be nice."


	5. Fairy Godmothers

They rode back to the hold in silence. The morning was clear and bright, with no hint of the storm that had blown through the day before. It was unfair to demand the sky to darken to match his mood, with the residents of Skyhold desperate for signs of spring, but he glowered at the sun anyway. Only when they reached the bridge and the guards saluted in greeting did he try to inject lightness into his bearing. Stoicism was allowed in a leader. Sulking wasn't.

By unspoken agreement Cassandra swung from her horse and left it to the care of the stablehands while he tended to his own mount. He lingered longer than necessary, checking tack and speaking to Blackwall about inconsequential matters. When he judged enough time had passed, he headed back to his office, halted and interrupted only slightly more often than usual. By the time he made it to the door, she should have had enough time.

"Hello?" he called as he entered, and there was no answer. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not.

Only long years of discipline kept him focused on the essential tasks. He leaned out of the door again and signaled a messenger to inform the Inquisitor of his return, then moved to his desk to glance through the morning's reports. Nothing that mattered, but all things that needed to be seen by the Commander before Cullen could take over. He scribbled notes and signed orders with a focus that belied his scattered mind.

After he read through the last missive, a question of ration disputes between Orlesian and Marcher recruits, he sighed and looked to the ladder. It was time to measure the size of the void she'd left. The only aching, crabbed comfort was that it could be no bigger than the one in his heart.

Once in his room, he reconsidered. Against all logic, there seemed to be more things missing than had ever been present in the space. He lived a sparse life, on the whole, and so much of what he did have had been hers. Her clothing was packed away and gone along with the trunks they'd spent a back-breaking afternoon levering up together. He couldn't imagine how she'd gotten them down alone and made a note to check the office floor for damage. Weapons and gear were similarly missing, along with the pile of scrap leathers she worked patterns into on the rare nights they could relax into nothingness. Her collection of trinkets from Val Royeaux, Denerim and the merchants who flowed through Skyhold were also nowhere to be seen. They were trifles, nothing of true value, but he could never help buying them for her whenever her eyes shined with unspoken want.

Most painfully of all, the pile of books from the bedside table was gone. They were mostly books of romance, ones they shared while they traveled and before they slept. None were as good as Varric's effort, _Swords and Shields_ , which even Cullen had devoured with the eagerness he usually reserved for chess strategy, but they all had been inspiring, in their own way. Cassandra loved them for what they were. Cullen loved them for what they brought out in her. She had a way of grazing the pages with her fingers that was more intimate than anything he'd ever dreamed.

Then his heart dropped, and he rushed to the table to pull open the bottom drawer. When he saw it was empty, he breathed again. Odd, to worry that something would be there instead of missing, but he'd won her with a book of his own writing, a tale of their romance with petals pressed between the pages. If she'd left that to his care it would have hurt beyond measure. At least now he could pretend that, after the lords and princes had danced attendance on her, flirting and plying, she would return to her rooms and read only of him.

Sighing, he headed into the washroom to clean himself up. Her things gone there as well, of course. He frowned. All except one. A half-used bar of her soap remained on the shelf at eye height, and he studied it warily. The soap was the one place where his wife - _former wife_ , he reminded himself in hard tones - was as particular as any noblewoman. It was fine and expensive and a luxury for a warrior. Vivienne had it sent from Val Royeaux specially, and Cassandra was the only one who used it in the entirety of Skyhold, as far as he knew. She had more of the stuff, of course, but why would she leave this one behind?

His hand reached out of its own volition, and he picked it up with fingers that shook. When he brought it to his nose and breathed in the familiar smell of her, he understood. This was his book of romance, his pressed flowers on the page. She was still here, even when she wasn't.

Cullen made sure to slip the soap into his pillowcase before he went back down into the world.

* * *

The next two weeks passed more easily than he ever would have thought possible. Cassandra's long familiarity with him, and him with her, let them dance around each other as gracefully as any Orlesian nobles at a ball. He breakfasted alone and adjusted his lunch so that she was always out of the mess well before he entered. She began to take dinner at a table that was out of the sightline of their usual place. He spent his nights in the tavern, a place she hated, though he kept his drinking almost non-existent. She sent a new representative to his briefings, one who knew almost as much about the Templar garrisons as she did.

And while he had trouble staying in his office, with its ladder and its bed and its couch that had seen her too many times, they managed to miss each other outside as well. Skyhold was enormous enough to hold a hundred couples who wanted to avoid each other. When she was training the new recruits he went outside the walls and worked with the Fereldans outside, acclimating them to the quirks of his own army. If she prayed in the Chantry, he walked the walls on inspection. On mornings when she worked the stables, he played chess with Dorian in the garden.

No, they hardly saw each other, only glimpses off the battlement or across the yard and one painful, unexpected meeting outside the latrines. Their distance was nearly perfect. The only ways anyone would know the constant presence she was on his mind, the ghost who walked beside him every moment, were in the hollowness of his cheeks and the loosening of his clothing. Ellana noticed first, of course, and tried to get him to eat with unbecoming enthusiasm. He tried, for her. But, even knowing he was exhausted and needed the fuel, nothing appealed, and he too often pushed back a half-full plate under her disappointed gaze.

He knew it was hard for their friends to watch them fall apart as though they'd never been. Ellana, Leliana, Josephine and Dorian were the only ones who knew the full truth, the better to keep any secrets. Leliana believed fervently in the containment of information, no matter how trivial, though it was sometimes hard to tell who knew what with these people. None of them were idiots, and Iron Bull in particular was sensitive to the moods and currents that swirled around him. He said nothing to Cullen, only watched him impassively during his tavern nights, but Varric and Sera were vocal in their displeasure.

One afternoon they cornered him as he was leaving for lunch, pushing him back into his office. To his relief, they weren't armed.

"Why aren't you fighting for her, Curly?" asked Varric after Cullen had been interrogated almost past endurance. The dwarf sounded more than a little annoyed.

"She doesn't want me to," said Cullen, leashing his temper. "She was very clear about her desire to marry well. For herself and the Inquisition."

Sera rolled her eyes. "Cass, with some asshole with hair like noodles that forgot to cook? Who smells like an alley cat dunked in perfume? No. She's not that messed up in the brain. Maybe she'd cut his head off a little, or knee him right in the noble privilege, but marry him?" She crossed her arms. "I don't buy it. She's testing you or some shite."

"Cassandra doesn't play games," said Cullen. "Or lie."

A look of doubt crossed her face. "I know…"

Varric shook his head. "Granted the Seeker isn't one for coquettish flirting and duels for her faovr, but she's also not an idiot. And this? This is idiotic," he said. He added in a bitter voice, "Trust me, I know about marrying where you're supposed to instead of where you want. It doesn't work out well."

"Who says she can't want this?" asked Cullen finally, after a quick internal struggle. "She deserves happiness."

They both groaned. "Come on," said Varric. "You know you're what makes her happy. Show her!"

Cullen leaned forward and stared him down. "What I know is what she believes. If an alliance with Nevarra is what she needs to be happy, I'll step aside. I'll do anything for her, Varric," he said. Truth weaving through the poses. "Even if it takes her away from me. Even if it seems foolish or worthless. It's not to her. I won't try to force her to change because it's what you think she should want."

The dwarf's face twisted into a grimace, but the strained sincerity in Cullen's voice must have convinced him because he moved to the door. "Yeah, I suppose," he said. "It's her life to screw up beyond all hope of recovery. But if you need to start drinking heavily, let me know. I'm an expert."

Sera followed him, muttering about doing a little target practice, and Cullen called after them, "Don't make this a war. You don't have to choose sides." He wet his lips and forced himself to continue. "She's still Cassandra. And she needs her friends."

The elf flipped him off as she left. "Fucking noble assholes and your screwed up priorities. Stupid always shows up in the end. Too much to expect you'd know what's actually important instead of just the stuff that looks it."

Varric lingered a moment longer with grave eyes. "She's not wrong," he said. They left Cullen sitting alone, holding tightly to his promise to serve.

* * *

Cullen's siblings were easier to handle. Alice shied away from the issue after a quick pat on the shoulder, Darren merely asked if he'd done anything to bring about the end, then challenged him to a relieved duel when Cullen assured him he hadn't, and Mia didn't mention it at all. Cullen was most surprised by the last. Mia had never been one to hold back her opinions, in person or in letters, and he could feel an incoming lecture like an arrow loosed from a bow. He stepped warily around her silence while they spoke about the usual, less earth-shattering things, such as her plans for the farm's future, her children's emerging aptitudes, and the various residents of Skyhold.

After several days of anticipation he was on the cusp of asking her if she was ill when the reason for the silence came. On a trip through the Chantry garden to speak with Mother Giselle, he heard his sister's low, earthy voice from a corner alcove and stopped instinctively. When he thought about it later, he wasn't quite sure what had made him pause, except perhaps the undercurrent of exasperated anger that he'd only ever heard directed at her siblings, her husband, and her children. That tone of voice was enough to stop any of them dead in their tracks.

"It's obvious you're the one driving this. He would come back to you in an instant if you asked him," said Mia. She was the chill of the frozen lake beneath them, and Cullen knew who she was talking to. "I know he would. But instead you're breaking his heart."

He reddened and pressed his face against the wall.

"Hearts mend," said Cassandra. "Your brother is a strong man. And a brave one. He will not break under something as slight as me."

"You don't believe that. I can see that you don't," his sister replied. "Why are you doing this?"

He heard Cassandra's familiar sigh, the way it rose and fell in her throat like a wave. "Because it is the easiest path to the future I desire," she said. Softer, then, so low he almost couldn't hear, "Nevarra matters."

"Cullen matters," said Mia in a voice that brooked no argument. "He may not have a name that invokes dynasties, or a bloodline that destines him for a throne, but he matters all the more for that."

There was a long silence, and Cullen's traitor heart started to rise. Mia had done it. Cassandra was persuaded to rebel. His older sister had fixed it, just as she'd done with his split lips and ripped trousers so often when he was small. She was the indomitable force of the Rutherfords, and she needed no army to wield her power.

Then Cassandra spoke again. "He does matter. But the world is not always so simple as we would like," she said. "It's not a story."

There was a rustling noise, and Cullen drew back. "I should have let him stay at the farm, with us, after you left," said Mia. "I never should have let him chase you. If you would do this now, you didn't deserve him then." The universe held its breath along with him. "You should have been alone."

He shrank against the wall as Mia swept past, so angry that she never even saw him. Cullen waited until she was gone from sight, then abandoned his plans to find Mother Giselle and sought out Varric. He was in his usual place in the Great Hall, and to Cullen's relief Bull was with him as well.

Cullen wasted no time with pleasantries. "Cassandra is on a bench in the garden. She needs one of you. Or both."

They both cocked their heads, but only Bull showed concern. "And she told you that why?" asked Varric.

"She didn't," he said. "I just know. Please." He knew his voice was rough. She was hurting, and he couldn't stop it. But even when that hurt was ripping his world into nightmares, a rift in the Veil of his soul, he still had to try.

Bull nodded without argument and stood, unfolding his limbs in his complicated way. Varric sighed. "I don't get you at all, Curly. But for you, I'll do it."

"It's for her," said Cullen. It took all of the willpower he had to keep himself from following them when they left.

* * *

In between the pain of his new life, there was the ball. The subject was all anyone talked about when the work was over. Sometimes even before that. The Inquisition was holding a party, and everyone was invited.

Alistair and Elissa had agreed to host it in their newly finished palace at Lothering. Not only was Skyhold hardly suited for fine entertainment, much less comfortable travel, it was still more military fortress than living quarters despite Josephine's best efforts. And even she understood the risk of inviting so many potential enemies into such a vital place at once.

Cullen was surprised they'd chosen Ferelden over Orlais, though, and said as much in one of the advisory meetings. Josephine gave him a harried look and spoke quickly. "In Orlais, the Empress will never allow another to outshine her, even the Inquisition. Too, the Game is most potent there, most difficult to navigate. Cassandra is not a great player - not a player at all. It will be better for us all if we do not introduce too many variables. In addition, the Grey Wardens will appreciate the Fereldan monarchs more, given their historical ties, but Lothering is a sight that will remind them, and the world, that even the Wardens have failed and we have not. Plus - "

He held up his hands in surrender. "Please. I should never have doubted you," he said with a smile. "And I'm certainly not complaining about my homeland being selected for the honor." No, he wasn't going to complain about avoiding Orlais. Part of him was convinced there were ladies, and more than a few gentlemen, still waiting for him with hands clasped to their chests at the gate of the Winter Palace.

The women turned back to more tedious, technical details, and he grabbed a random page from the table and began to read. Invitations had gone out even before he'd known the first thing about this plan, and some guests were already traveling to the Southern Palace, as the royals called it. Strange, for a farming village in the middle of nowhere to have such a monstrosity, but Elissa had claimed it would dispel some of the superstition about the area, as well as provide an influx of funds to those who still struggled to regain their footing after the Blight's destruction. Cullen supposed she was right, which was why she was the monarch.

Besides, Leliana was very persuasive.

Their words drifted over him as he familiarized himself with the security arrangements, both theirs and the dozens of dignitaries. Some, like Alistair's and Celene's, were shared freely, though of course he would check into them anyway. Others, like the Divine's, were extensions of his own designs. And the last group, the enemies, magisters and Nevarrans and even the wary elves… well, those had been for Leliana to discover what she could. Which was a considerable amount. He was drowning in details.

But there weren't enough details about Nevarran delegation itself for his liking. They'd been given names, but Cassandra knew little about them personally, and information was proving difficult to obtain. Supposedly. Cullen thought that the Nightingale was far too sanguine about their ignorance for that to be true.

His attention was caught by a mention of attire. "Are we all wearing the same red uniforms as in Orlais?" he asked.

Ellana snorted. "Creators no."

Leliana and Josephine nodded vigorous agreement. He frowned. "I liked them. Are you telling me I have to come up with something new?" He racked his brain for even a glimmer of fashion sense and came up empty. Maybe Dorian could help.

"Oh, you're wearing it again," said Leliana. "You're the only one with the shoulders for it. Don't worry your pretty head about your clothing, Commander. But the rest of us don't have to dress for assassinations this time."

"We hope," said Ellana, chuckling. She leaned forward. "Are the dresses still due to arrive tomorrow?"

"Yes. The merchants have all been very obliging. We even managed to secure Dorian's very particular request," said Josephine. She shook her head. "I suppose he does know the Imperium's tastes best."

"And Cassandra's gown?" asked Ellana.

Cullen looked hurriedly back down at his papers. _The Prince of Starkhaven brings twenty guards._ Important, that. He really needed to memorize it.

The ladies didn't notice. "Yes," said Josephine. "Fortunately we already had good measurements from when we were - " She broke off, then, and he felt her eyes flicker towards him before she moved on to something else.

He could finish the sentence all the same. From when they were planning a wedding for him, one he wasn't supposed to know about and would never have.

Cassandra's wedding dress. What would that have been like? His mouth watered. They'd been married in road clothes, as clean as they could make them but hard-used and worn. It had been exactly what they'd wanted in the moment, their normal life made more perfect. He had no regrets. But, as little as he'd been looking forward to an event where he'd be laid out for display like a particularly well-trained pet, he had to admit he'd been anticipating her suffering the same fate.

He loved Cassandra in everything she owned, but he craved the sight of her soft and sweet in a gown just for him. One he could remove in the privacy of their room at the end of the night, slowly and carefully, and let her feel exactly how soft he wasn't…

He ripped his mind away from profitless, pointless imaginations. Her gowns were for others now. Though, Maker willing, she would remove them alone.

The rest had continued talking while his mind wandered, and he interrupted them again. "When do we leave for Lothering?"

Ellana arched her eyebrow at him. "Two days. Will we be ready, Commander?" she asked. The words were heavy with unspoken meaning.

"Yes, Inquisitor. We'll be fine."

* * *

They set out from Skyhold in a ragged, broken, and ultimately confused line. Servants and soldiers and journeymen hostlers all buzzed around in a pattern that was no pattern at all. Cullen shouted, bullied, and wrangled as best he could. It wasn't enough. Even the march from the ruins of Haven had been more organized than this, but of course they'd been smaller then. Less an Inquisition and more a pilgrimage.

Still, once they made it out of the passes, things calmed considerably. The caravan could glide instead of jerking along in fits and starts and his guards were able to take up more traditional patrols. While it was unlikely they would suffer a full-scale attack on this journey, there were enough important people in the party to make him nervous. They would be a tempting target.

Ellana had given the choice of going or staying to many, and a surprising number had opted out. Dagna said she was looking forward to the peace of an empty keep, most of the Chantry sisters had refused outright, and some of the less sociable Chargers remained as a ruthless guard for the castle. Other soldiers were commanded to stay as well, including most of the new Fereldan company and a few of his captains who Cullen knew hated social engagements almost as much as he did. Skyhold was still well-populated with the Inquisition's best.

But not their very best. Some people hadn't had a choice in attendance, including him and all of the inner circle. Vivienne would join them in Lothering, and Solas was still in the wind, but the rest were all there. Cole was nervous, Bull was resigned, and Sera was highly annoyed. When Ellana had tried to sell her on returning as a somebody to her homeland, the elf had laughed in her face. Only when Cullen pointed out that Alice was coming, and that she would return to Honnleath with the rest of his family after everything was settled, did Sera relent. She may not always have much use for him, but in his younger sister she'd found a perfect friend to aid her destruction. Ellana liked a prank, especially at her friends' expenses, but the Inquisitor had to have limits. Sera didn't work well with limits.

And Mia, Alice and Darren were with them too, the last in a professional capacity but with enough leeway for family time when it could be granted. Cullen might be overwhelmed by them, and he might not fit in their unit now despite their always-present bonds, but they were family. So were Brandon and the children, also traveling along. Cullen hadn't been able to refuse Mia's pleas. Who knew when they would be together again? Another twenty years, perhaps. Perhaps never.

He pushed the thought away. The world was already gloomy enough without borrowing more trouble. Cullen hit the midpoint of the caravan on his patrol and saw a crowd of worried soldiers waiting for them. He folded his arms and waited right back. They shifted and muttered until one of them was shoved forward as a spokeswoman.

"Commander, the troops scheduled to come on duty next shift have reported a loss of… well, a loss of all of their breeches," said the luckless corporal. She gave Cullen a hesitant look. "They'll go on with the ones they're wearing, but the men are worried that it's enemy sabotage, ser."

Cullen rolled his eyes as giggles exploded from somewhere to his left. "Thank you for the report, Corporal. Tell the troops not to be alarmed. In this case I think it's friendly fire. And temporary," he added, raising his voice. "If I'm right, they'll be returned in fifteen minutes."

"Thirty!" called a voice from behind the nearest wagon. He saw a flash of yellow-clad legs running off into the distance, skipping every few steps, and sighed. This was going to be a long trip.


	6. Breadcrumbs Behind Them

A day out of Lothering they passed so near to Honnleath that Cullen saw faces he knew in the surrounding throng. Crowds had been gathering more frequently as word of the Inquisition's progress spread through Ferelden, waving and cheering at them all. He refused to wave back as though it were a parade, but the rest of the group didn't hesitate to engage them. An off-shift Darren even blew kisses, which were received with enthusiastic squeals. Cullen looked at him through narrowed eyes. "You do realize they have no idea who you are?"

"Not for lack of trying!" said Darren. "I realize we can't all be quite so vaunted as you, brother, but a man can dream."

"They don't know who I am either," he said irritably.

Dorian laughed from his mount on the other side of Darren. "You may want to listen again."

He was snarling a curt rejoinder when a loud "Commander Cullen!" rang out in chorus. He reddened as he saw a knot of women waving and smiling broadly near the front of the crowd. When his eyes swept over them, one of the ladies jumped up and down and grabbed another's arm, speaking rapidly. The whole group redoubled their efforts.

"Wave to them," said Dorian.

Cullen shot him a horrified look, but at the mage's encouraging nod he slowly lifted his hand into a brief acknowledgment. A shriek rose, and against all reason the women became even more animated. He quickly averted his eyes and tried to focus on the road ahead. Unfortunately Cassandra was squarely in front of him, riding the back of a wagon and staring with cool eyes. When he met her gaze, she smirked - actually smirked - and Cullen blushed all the way to the tips of his hair. He moved his eyes to the horse underneath him. "Maker's breath," he muttered.

Dorian and his brother did a poor job of concealing their laughter. "You see, Commander?" said Dorian. "Now you've spread the Inquisition's goodwill to a small part of Thedas. Those ladies will have only fond words for your cause for the cost of a single wave. This is an ambassadorial mission, you know."

"I think I'll leave such outreach to the two of you," said Cullen. He frowned as he realized Dorian hadn't joined in the rest of the caravan's appeals to the crowd. "Why aren't you being more… friendly?"

Darren snorted, and Dorian drew himself up haughtily. "It would be most unbecoming of a guest in your country to make its citizenry turn their heads away from its native sons, as they inevitably would for someone of my caliber. And I am nothing if not a polite guest."

"Fereldans know true quality when they see it," said Darren as he waved. "And when it's merely a veneer. They're in no danger from the likes of you. Wave to the people."

To Cullen's surprise, Dorian grinned. "Don't you mean 'we aren't in danger'? Or have you given up citizenship?"

His brother didn't answer, and Cullen stared at them both. Neither man looked at him, and eventually Dorian turned to the crowd and raised his own hand. Cullen shook his head and rode to the front, away from Cassandra's eyes and the undercurrents he was in no place to try to understand.

* * *

They stopped to rest before the final leg, and Cullen sat outside his tent to watch the stars well into the night. Sleep had danced farther away the more he tried to chase it, and the blanket of lights above him were at least more interesting than a cloth ceiling.

"Commander!" said a sharp voice, and he sprang to his feet without thought. A small squad was marching toward him, pulling along a hooded figure with its hands bound. "Caught this one sneaking through the perimeter," the sergeant continued. "Apostate, by the look of him."

Cullen raised an eyebrow and the man flushed. "I'm sorry, ser, unregistered mage."

"Any injuries?"

"No ser, to him or us. He came quietly."

"I see," said Cullen. "And how far did he get?" When the sergeant looked at him in confusion, Cullen clarified, "Through the perimeter defenses. Where was he stopped?"

A private stepped forward into the silence. "We caught him at the second level, ser."

Cullen smiled and motioned them to remove the man's hood. It flipped back to reveal a very bald, very familiar head, with violet eyes that watched him in weary amusement. "So quickly," murmured Cullen, and Solas shrugged slightly. "Sergeant, you're out of Lieutenant Kilven's squad, correct?"

"Yes ser. She requested that I bring him to you personally, after we apprehended him."

Kilven always did have a biting sense of humor. He wouldn't tell the man the ribbing that awaited him. "Tell her I said excellent work. You can leave the prisoner with me."

They were startled, but did as he said. When they were out of earshot, Cullen turned back to Solas. "Only the second level? You're losing your touch."

"Yes, I'm pleased you defend the Inquisitor so ably. The shifting pattern of the guards in between one another was ingenious," said Solas. He moved his hands, and the restraints fell to the ground. "You may want to teach your recruits that a mage requires more restraint than simple rope, however."

Cullen hissed, and Solas smiled, but it didn't fully form. There were lines around his eyes and a heaviness in his bearing that Cullen didn't like. "You look exhausted," he said. "Why are you even here? I thought you were busy robbing elderly ladies of their silver."

"Yes, I was quite the master criminal," said Solas, eyes flashing. "It takes considerable effort to leave more than you found and still maintain the facade of banditry."

Cullen shifted but didn't apologize. He didn't trust Solas. He hadn't since Corypheus fell and the man disappeared, leaving behind only the knowledge that he'd been instrumental in the darkspawn's rise to power. But Solas had returned, eventually, and Ellana loved him and Leliana trusted him, so Cullen had to accept him. They'd become wary allies since, but Cullen never stopped watching him. Testing him. Solas knew and seemed to enjoy the challenge.

He also never forgot that Cullen had once hoped to be his romantic rival. "As for why I'm here, I've been invited to a ball," he added. "By Ellana."

His mouth tightened as he said it, even with his smug tone, and Cullen couldn't help laughing. "Looking forward to it as much as I am, I see," he said. "Did you bring the Temple guardians?"

"No, they are… elsewhere. For now," said Solas. He turned his head to follow a noise, and his face softened. " _Vhenan_."

Ellana rose out of the darkness like the dawn. Cullen's breath caught in his throat at the adoration there, and the desperate need she didn't even try to hide. The feelings echoed in him so easily, for another face and another name, and he had to look away from their power. He only turned back when Ellana's voice drifted across the empty space, quiet and amused. "I was told we'd apprehended an enemy agent. Tell me, what was your object in infiltrating our camp?"

A smile played around her lips as Solas gave her a disapproving look. " _Dalen_ , this is hardly the moment."

"That's no answer, spy," she said. "I can see you've been trained well, but my methods of interrogation never fail." Solas growled, and Ellana smiled beatifically. "I will know your purpose, one way or another."

Solas cut a look at Cullen, who made no move to leave. He was enjoying the elf's discomfort more than he would ever admit, and with less pain than he would have thought. While he and Cassandra had been more than satisfied, they'd never been anything other than themselves in the bedroom. There were no memories in the exchange. Though the idea of Cassandra interrogating him until he broke was surprisingly appealing.

The Inquisitor watched her lover implacably, tapping her foot. At last Solas sighed. "My purpose was to locate the Inquisitor, restrain her, and show her that the elves will not be ignored."

Ellana stepped closer to him and ran a hand over his arm. "All elves? Or one in particular?" He didn't answer, and she laughed. "And how would you have shown her?"

Solas smiled, sharp and predatory, and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. Cullen was profoundly grateful he couldn't hear it when Ellana's face turned an alarming shade of red. She coughed once, then slanted her own look at Cullen. "Yes, well," she said, then coughed again. "I'm inclined to let your mission succeed then. Without delay."

She tugged Solas towards her distant tent. The elf's eyes had lost their exhaustion and were now focused on Ellana to the exclusion of everything else. He said nothing at all as they left, though Ellana at least called a goodnight over her shoulder. Cullen settled back in front of his tent with an envious heart and a rioting mind. The camp was quiet around him, with only a few clinks and mutters to give it life at all, but sleep would be even less likely now.

He heard footfalls next to him, but he didn't bother to look up until someone dropped to the earth near enough to touch. He leaned away, startled, and he turned just in time to see Cassandra deposit a bowl of soup on the ground. "Eat," she said.

He took a minute to find his voice. "It's midnight."

"Yes," she said. "Eat. You need to." She raised a single, perfect eyebrow. "Unless you were about to sleep."

She knew better. "No," he said, and picked up the bowl reluctantly. He lost some of his reluctance when he saw she had one of her own, as well as two small loaves of bread. "Didn't you have dinner?"

"No."

He took the bread from her and really studied her face. The moonlight washing over her made her seem pale. At least he'd thought it was the moon. But the moon certainly wasn't causing the gauntness in her cheeks or the worry lines around her eyes. He thought back to his weeks of unfinished meals. "I suppose it wouldn't do for two of the Inquisition's leaders to collapse only a day from their destination."

"Or three," she said. "Though Ellana seemed much more cheerful just now."

Lovers returning had that effect, but that was a delicate topic. "Well, Solas is a healer. When he deigns to be."

They ate in silence, and even with the wall between them he felt relaxed, more himself than he had since the morning his world had wrenched itself away from his grasp. No one was around to see them, and he didn't have to dissemble quite so much. He polished off his soup and bread with surprising vigor and turned to her with just a hint of pleading in his expression.

She understood and pulled a satchel around in front of her. Her hand dipped inside, then reappeared holding an apple and a wedge of cheese. He took them, then laughed as she reached back in for more bread and another apple. She handed them over as well. "You came prepared," he said.

"You need the food," she said. "You are much too thin."

He took a bite of cheese as he shrugged. "Probably good for me. I was getting out of condition," he said around his mouthful.

"You were not."

"I was! I could hardly get myself up the ladder," he said. "Any day I was going to have to start sleeping permanently on the couch."

She shook her head in familiar irritation. "That is untrue. You have always been very fit. Do not disparage yourself when you know it to be false."

A ghost of a smile danced across his lips. "For you, I'll try not to," he said, then looked away from the softening of her face. "Thank you for the meal, by the way."

Her hand drifted down to toy with the top of her boot. "Varric told me that you entreated him to remain a friend. You told him that we were not at war."

"We're not."

"Yes. But I had wondered…" She drifted off. "It is I who must thank you. A meal is nothing in comparison."

Silence fell again, less comfortably this time, and once he polished off the food he had nothing more to occupy his mouth. He frowned. This was why avoidance was easier. Eventually he asked, "Why are you still awake? I hope not for me."

"No," she said, but she didn't meet his eyes. "I had difficulty sleeping. I know it would be better to be rested, but I couldn't."

Crickets echoed over them in a quiet serenade while he waited for her to find the words she needed. She sighed heavily. "I have never been nervous before any battle. I've known I may die, more than once I have known this, but that is not enough for fear. If I cannot trust my shield to guard me, what can I trust?"

He said nothing, though he knew his answer. Him. She could trust him, always. But that wasn't what she was here to know.

"But this is not a fight," she continued, glancing at him. "This is a… a party. I have never been so terrified."

Cullen smiled, and she returned it ruefully. "I know what you mean," he said

"They need much of me. I don't know if I deserve their faith," she said. She scowled. "Leliana says I must be charming."

Laughter bubbled up inside of him, but he forced it down. Instead, he reached out and took her hand. "You are charming. Even Sera's warmed up to you. After her, diplomats will be no trouble," he said as firmly as he could. He squeezed her fingers in his own. Like a friend would.

"You're using your Commander voice," she said. "The one that talks soldiers into battles they might not win."

"It's the only voice I have," he said, shrugging. "And 'might not' doesn't mean 'won't'. You do everything well. I'd put my coin on you any day."

"Thank you," she said. They sat for awhile, hands clasped like children, until his yawn drove her to her feet. "Forgive me. You're ready for sleep, of course."

He thought about protesting, wanting just a little more of her breathing next to him before she showed the world her charms, but she needed rest. "So are you, or you should be. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Cullen," she said, and the sound of it played around his heart until the Fade claimed him at last.

* * *

The Lothering Palace was large, expansive, and stuffed to capacity. As the nominal hosts of the event, they were directed to a large and close field for their quartering, and Cullen would have been happy to stay there until the whole wretched thing was done, but he was immediately shuffled with the rest of the leadership into the palace proper to receive indoor rooms. Alistair and Elissa met them in a grand entryway twice the size of Skyhold's.

Sera craned her neck to stare at the distant ceiling in disgust. "Some poor bugger's got a dangerous cleaning job up there. Not that anyone cares."

Josephine hissed at her with a polite smile on her face, but Alistair's eyes danced. "Oh no, we let the spiders run wild. Once they get large enough they're excellent training material for the guards," he said. "We've lost a few men, but they really should have been watching all the legs, not just the ones in front. I told them that was the key."

Varric and Bull laughed, but Elissa smacked her husband's arm. "Stop it. You promised to be dignified."

"You should have known better than to believe him," said Leliana with a grin. She stepped forward and threw her arms around them both in turn. "Maker bless you. It's been too long, you know."

"Yes, once the world stopped exploding with dangerous and inventive new threats, we seemed to hit a social lull," said Alistair. "But you do know how hard it is to get to your fortress, don't you? I'd sooner travel the Deep Roads again than those mountain passes."

Leliana huffed but was prevented from responding by an insistent throat clearing. "Leliana," said Josephine in her most diplomatic tones. Cullen eased away slowly and noticed the rest of them do the same. It was never good to be in the line of attack when the two advisors had a spat.

Fortunately Alistair settled his features into something resembling solemnity. "Forgive me, Lady Montilyet. I, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, along with my luminous Queen, do humbly welcome you to our little palace by the lake, a venue which I hope proves most successful for your Inquisition Birthday Party or whatever it is we're celebrating. Our rooms are yours, as are our servants, our guards, and our food. But not our wine," he added severely. "I learned my lesson when we had those Marchers here. It's not supposed to be a carry-out."

Josephine never wavered even with the giggles being smothered around her. "Thank you, Your Majesties. We appreciate your hospitality and condescension, particularly on such short notice."

The Queen inclined her head gracefully. "Not at all. We consider you our dear friends." She jabbed her husband in the side with her elbow.

"Yes, yes, we're all the best of friends here," said Alistair, looking past them. "But I see there are some people I don't know. And children!"

Cullen's eyes widened, and he turned around to see his family clustered nervously behind them, like refugees in a storm. They must have talked their way in somehow to meet the royals, and they looked like the awestruck civilians they were. Mia's face in particular was a blend of terror and adoration that made Cullen's heart sink. Josephine was going to kill him. Slowly. With words. But as the silence stretched out, he saw he had no choice.

"Your Highness - " he began.

Alistair shuddered. "Cullen. For you, of all people, to wound me in such a way is unpardonable. We did the formal bits already," he said. He turned to his wife. "Right dear?"

Elissa smiled, but it was a smile that held a promise of future trouble in its pressed lines. "If you say so."

Maker help him. "Alistair," he tried again. "This is my family. They were visiting me in Skyhold when these arrangements were… arranged." He winced as Sera laughed openly, then waved vaguely at the knot of relatives. "My sisters, Mia and Alice, and my brother Darren who serves in the detachment you recently sent us. And this is Mia's husband, Brandon, and their three children Peter, Katrine and Alistair."

He blushed as the Queen's eyebrows went up. "Alistair?" she asked. He couldn't tell if she was amused or offended. He prayed it was amused.

Mia stepped forward and curtsied so low he thought she was going to fall over. "Yes, Your Highness." Cullen held his breath, but Alistair very kindly said nothing. "We hoped he would grow into the wisdom and bravery of our sovereign."

"If that's the case, Elissa would have been a much better choice, I'm afraid," said Alistair. He bowed through Mia's protestations. "Nevertheless I thank you for the compliment, Mistress Rutherford."

"Walker," said Brandon shortly.

It was Dorian's turn to laugh as Mia glared daggers at her husband for daring to correct their King. Alistair didn't miss a beat. "Of course, Mistress Walker, exactly what I was going to say. Any family of Cullen's is a friend of mine. Templar regulations. Not that I made it to Templar, exactly, but I sort of round up," he said. He added in a loud whisper, "They don't like that."

Cullen rolled his eyes, and Alistair turned his grin on him. "Oh don't be that way. You're not even a member anymore," he said. He turned back to Mia with sudden courtly manners. "Now, can I interest you and your family on a tour of this building? Even I haven't found all of its corners yet. Or its spiders."

Mia nodded so quickly she almost scorched the air, and the rest of his family seemed interested enough. Brandon, at the least, clearly had no intention of leaving his wife alone with the beaming royal. Cullen could have told him that Alistair was like this with everyone, and that it hardly mattered. Elissa had captured him completely long ago. Still, it would give them all something to do. And Brandon wasn't the type of man to punch anyone. He hoped.

Josephine stepped forward, flustered, as Alistair extended his arm. "Your Highness - Alistair - we were hoping to beg a small portion of your time to speak with the Inquisitor about the preparations for tomorrow evening." Ellana grimaced, and Cullen guessed that Josephine was once again using the royal "we".

Alistair waved that away. "Heavens no, I would be as useful as a dress on a hurok. Work that out with my staff," he said. "Besides, I know from traveling. The Inquisitor is actually looking for a bath and a bed, in that order. Rest. Relax. There will be plenty of time for chats later." As the group receded into the depths of the castle, Cullen heard, "Now, Mistress Walker - or Mia, I should say - I absolutely refuse to be called Your Highness. But Alistair might cause confusion, I can see. A nickname is required. I was called "You bastard" quite a bit in my youth, but perhaps something a little shorter?"

The voices faded away, and Bull said, "Well, that went pretty well. Where's the beds?" His roving eye and smiles at the various people in the room left no doubt that he was hoping for an afternoon of double occupancy. Josephine put a hand to her forehead.

A housekeeper stepped forward and Elissa motioned the group into a nearby door. While they walked he sidled up next to her and Leliana. "I apologize for that," he said in low tones.

"There's no need," she said. "He was ecstatic to have a reason to leave us. It was probably the nicest gift you could have given him."

"No, I mean the um, adoration."

She smiled, but it held the same dangerous quality that he'd seen all those years ago when she'd sliced the Kinloch Circle to pieces to save them all. "Half of the world is in love with my husband, Commander. Your sister seems like a nice enough woman. Don't worry about her."

He didn't reply, though truthfully it wasn't Mia he was worried about. Then he ran back over her words and swallowed hard. Surely the Hero of Ferelden didn't mean she would… He stopped that line of thought. She'd commanded him not to worry. He wouldn't. He was good at commands.

Leliana pulled Elissa away and started talking quietly about something it likely wasn't worth his life to eavesdrop on, so he fell back into the group and half-listened as they laughed and joked. They wound their way through an expansive guest wing, shedding people as they found their rooms. They'd all been given their own quarters, to his surprise, even Solas and Ellana, and he was grateful to be spared the awkwardness of explaining that he and Cassandra were no longer sharing. If they'd even known they might be. Their relationship hadn't lasted long at all, in the scheme of things.

When they reached his own room he stepped inside without a backwards glance. He hadn't seen where Cassandra would be, and he didn't want to know. Later he'd meet with Elissa, the military mind of Ferelden, to talk about security. His things would arrive, and he would unpack and prepare for an assault of formality.

But right now, all he wanted to do was take a nap.


	7. New Lamps For Old

Cullen tugged on the sash of his formal attire for what felt like the thousandth time. He was grateful to be in something so simple, but hadn't considered it would make him the earliest to the antechamber, and he was bored already. Bored and nervous. Whoever had come up with the idea of parties should have been locked away for life.

As time went on people slowly drifted in. Bull and Sera had also opted for the red uniforms, the better to not have to come up with anything new. Though in Bull's case, he knew the qunari had wanted to come with a bare chest and little else and had been soundly outvoted. Cole wore a surprisingly stylishly cut jacket over a new shirt, though he was fading in and out so frequently that it was hard to see. He also had a new hat perched on his head, and Cullen coughed as he drew him aside. "About your hat…"

"Josephine said I could not have a hat that looked like a dead scarecrow's. Scarecrows aren't alive, so I wasn't sure which hats would be dead, but the woman with the cart said this one was very fashionable," said Cole. "Isn't it?"

"Yes. But it is a fashionable hat for, well, ladies," said Cullen.

"So Josephine will like it. She's a lady."

"She is," said Varric, walking up behind him. The dwarf looked like he'd come straight from Kirkwall, though most of his shirt hadn't made the journey. His chest looked like an uncut meadow. He saw Cullen staring and laughed. "Flaunt it if you've got it, Commander. Anyway, kid, I think your hat is great. Just stay away from the receiving line."

Cole didn't seem to hear him. "Varric, I've always wondered. Why is the hair from your chin on your chest instead?"

A flurry at the door forestalled any answer, as everyone but Leliana and Cassandra finally entered. Josephine and Ellana wore gowns that swept with hardly any effort from their occupants, and Ellana in particular seemed to enjoy swooshing her skirt around as she walked. Solas wore a more formal version of his usual outfit, though his leggings were tight enough that it was a wonder there was any blood flowing to his feet at all. He'd also been forced into shoes, and Cullen grinned as the elf wiggled his feet surreptitiously every few minutes. Blackwall had opted for Grey Warden colors, the better to remind everyone where their loyalties lay, and Vivienne wore a dress with more bare back than any Divine had ever dreamed of showing.

And still she paled to Dorian. Bull laughed as the Tevinter man flourished his way into the room. "I see you and the dwarf have the same tailor, Vint."

"Nah, my guy doesn't work with quite that much leather," said Varric. "But it's a good look."

Dorian smiled cheerfully. He'd chosen all black, with pants that were standard but a fitted shirt that was anything but. It slashed all the way down to his navel without touching, revealing vast expanses of his chest and stomach. And it was sleeveless, cut close enough that his shoulders were well-displayed. The effect was one in which he was clothed quite formally but he looked like he wasn't clothed at all. Dorian's usual goal.

The mage sidled up to him as soon as everyone had exhausted their jokes. "Is this more Tevinter fashion?" asked Cullen. "It's a wonder the Imperium even bothers to make shirts."

"It isn't yet. But it will be, if I have my say," said Dorian, grinning. "Don't tell dear Josephine that, though. I convinced her it was what we all were wearing."

_Your funeral,_ Cullen thought, but he lost focus when he heard loud voices coming down the hall.

"You must be charming." Leliana's voice, commanding and irritated. "Not look as though you've been press-ganged into dancing."

"I am very charming, I am told." Cassandra's, even more irritated. "But do not ask me to smile when there is nothing worth smiling at. I will smile only when it is needed."

He grinned, and the rest of the group covered their mouths with their hands to hide the same, but his smile faded when the two women turned the corner. Leliana had on something delicate and dangerous, but he hardly noticed. Cassandra commanded all of his attention. Despite the frustration on her face, she was more beautiful than even his wildest imaginings. Her dress was dark purple, or blue, or some color that he couldn't identify, and it shimmered with small, iridescent stones even when she was motionless. The silky material fit closely to the curves he knew so well, and Cullen could almost feel his hands slipping along the fabric to trace their contours. Instead of a skirt that ballooned out, hers was a column that draped to the ground, with a slit in the side that showed the tone of one of her long, lean legs for anyone to see. They'd done something to mute her scars, and something even more to enhance the crown of her hair, but he saw all of her as she was and as she'd always been.

She looked like the night sky as it swirled above him while they slept. She looked like every maiden from every tale, every princess who had ever lived on the pages of a story. And above all, she looked like Cassandra. There could be no one else worth seeing.

He tugged again at his own clothing, keenly aware of how inadequate he was to even stand with her here, much less be anything more.

Eventually Varric whistled into the silence. "Seeker. You're beautiful. This is definitely your night to shine." Like a drop of water breaking a dam, the room suddenly filled with other compliments and words of admiration, even as they all looked sidelong at Cullen. He stayed silent, not trusting himself to speak, while she accepted their praise.

Until Cassandra turned to him, hands twisting together in front of her. "Is it okay?"

As if she needed to ask. But she had, and even with the heavy stone already settling in his stomach he would answer her. "I don't think it would do much to turn a sword away, but for this battlefield it's exactly right," he said in a steady voice.

It didn't make her laugh as he'd hoped. It actually seemed to make her distress worse, but he couldn't say anything more without it being far too much. If they were alone he would already have her against the wall, but that wasn't something he could say when she was about to smile at all the things that were worth smiling at.

As they partnered off to walk to the ballroom for even more waiting, he clung to Leliana and stared a hole through Dorian, who'd taken Cassandra's arm to preserve the life of everyone else in the room. The Tevinter man was no more interested in her than in a goat, and Cullen still wanted to rip his head off. He was never going to survive this.

* * *

Two hours later, he hadn't revised his opinion. Cullen had been ordered to the receiving line, and Alistair had given him a sympathetic smile when he and Elissa had filed through with their retinue. "The best part of this party not being mine is that I don't have to stand here. Maker give you strength," he'd said. "And I'll try to send you some of the little cheeses. They're wonderful."

Dignitaries, nobles and royals were announced with the regularity and speed of arrows finding their targets in a training yard. Cullen tried to pay attention to the names, but they blended together. Even with Josephine at the front whispering them down the line to prepare them, the noise of the ballroom meant they were mangled beyond belief by the time they made it to him. At one point he was certain that they were welcoming someone named Ferg Gulber from Orlais, but he smiled and nodded anyway. He even managed to make a surface representative from Orzammar briefly lose her scowl, no mean feat for the man who'd led the charge against lyrium dependency.

So while he was in social agony, at least he was doing a good job of hiding it. He felt less like a string that was about to snap as the night went on and more wine materialized in his hand.

Darren had just appeared with the promised cheeses from the King, as well as a few words for Dorian about his attire that Cullen hoped fervently were not from the King, when the Nevarran delegation was announced. Cullen swallowed too quickly and spent the first few minutes of the introduction coughing on dairy and wheezing. After his eyes stopped watering, he stared intently at the people lining the top of the staircase.

They all had the same coloring that he associated with Cassandra, the dark hair and eyes with pale skin that seemed almost too smooth to be flesh. But they lacked the spark of life inside that made her so irresistible. None of them would read a romance novel, enraptured to the point of insensibility, or take on a Chantry official who had overstepped his bounds. Each guest was robed and somber, women and men alike, and it was hard to shake the impression that they'd already passed through the Veil without noticing. More to the point, none of the men were particularly handsome, and they certainly weren't virile. Cullen breathed a little more easily. He still lacked their titles and upbringing, but at the very least he could offer Cassandra their missing passion.

Then one more name rang out. "Dmitri Van Markham, Grand Prince of Nevarra, protector of Cumberland and its associated principalities."

Cullen frowned. There'd been no one by that name on the Nevarran lists. And he would know, he'd practically memorized them. Was a Grand Prince better than a normal prince? Judging by Josephine's delighted smile, it certainly was. Leliana, he noticed sourly, seemed much less surprised than he was. But most interestingly of all, Cassandra suddenly looked nervous, like a blow she'd been expecting was finally at hand.

When the man graced the top of the stairs, Cullen's fists clenched in understanding. Against anyone the man would have been handsome and alive, but after the dead, remote demeanors of his companions he seemed brighter than the sun itself. And he was dressed like it, too. He'd forgone robes for a simply cut suit in a black-trimmed orange that should have looked ridiculous but instead was vibrant foreground. He smiled down at them all with the usual superiority of royalty. Dorian murmured appreciatively, but Cullen's fists tightened when the man's gaze lingered on Cassandra for much too long.

He couldn't hear much of the introductions at their end, just bits and pieces, but he did see Josephine's scandalized look when the man bowed over Cassandra's hand. Since Josephine would have only looked pleased if there had been some sort of forward flirtation, Cullen guessed the man had insulted his no-longer-wife in some diplomatically acceptable way. Another thing he would answer for. Along with the smile that Cassandra was giving him now despite it. And the way he didn't let go of her hand until well past a polite length of time.

Cullen never took his eyes off the prince, even while he was absently greeting the rest of the new delegation, and Dmitri smiled when he finally reached the end. "Commander Rutherford. We hear much about you in Nevarra. Including how you once believed you would be worthy of one of Nevarra's most beloved daughters," he said. His accent was a darker version of Cassandra's, and Cullen's mouth tightened as they made their bows. The prince's pale eyes were mocking as he added, "I thought you would be younger."

"Thank you, Your Highness," he said, amazed that his clenched jaw even allowed the words to escape. "Only the best warriors live to be old, after all. Except for those who let the others do the fighting for them. I understand in Nevarra royalty declines the front lines."

Varric coughed loudly beside them, and Dmitri's face darkened. "Indeed," he said. He shifted so that his powerful frame was square with his opponent's, and Cullen was already cataloging his likely weak points as the prince continued, "But in Nevarra our military leaders are not so easily replaceable as in the Inquisition, I imagine. Not so generic."

"I suppose I would have to be in need of replacement to know for sure," answered Cullen. "So we'll have to wait some time to test your theory."

"I look forward to that happy day, Commander." The Nevarran made a quick bow to Dorian with a murmured greeting, then moved back to the head of the line with surprising speed. This time the prince's voice was loud enough to carry down to where Cullen stood, still seething. "Forgive me, Princess Pentaghast. I was intending to wait until your duties were complete, but your charms lead me to be ruder than I intended. May I steal you away from your companions for a time?"

Josephine nodded before Cassandra had a chance to answer. "Of course, Your Highness. We understand that a reunion has already been long overdue. Cassandra would be most pleased to accompany you."

Cassandra looked more uncertain than pleased, but she gathered herself together and nodded regally. Dmitri held his arm out to her, and she took it with every sign of pleasure. As they made to leave, Leliana contrived to make Cassandra stumble in such a way that she fell against her escort, and Dmitri caught her adroitly and with far too much enjoyment. She murmured an apology that he waved off, though he used the opportunity to draw her closer to his side. He winked at Cullen as they continued their walk to the ball proper, and only the combined hands of Varric, Dorian and Darren kept Cullen from lunging at him.

"Not the right time, Curly," murmured Varric. "And I thought you were going to let her choose what she wanted."

Varric was right. And she didn't even really want this. This was supposed to be a pose. He watched as she said something to the prince and he smirked in response. _She'd better not want him_ , he thought darkly. And a little muzzily, through the wine. Dmitri swept her to the dance floor with a hand at her waist, and she followed where he led without hesitation.

He must have tensed his arms again because the dwarf said, "Weren't you?" in a meaningful voice.

Cullen tried to get a hold of himself. "Yes. I'm sorry. Thank you." He shook his head. At least the man had already seemed to know how he felt about Cassandra. At least Josephine would have to allow that, even though he'd lost his temper in every possible way.

He jumped when her voice came from behind him. "What did you say to him?"

"Look, I can explain -" he began as he turned around, though he had no idea what he was going to say. He stopped short when he saw her beaming.

"Whatever it was, it worked to perfection. The Prince was most rude to her at the initial meeting - he called her Lady Seeker instead of Princess Pentaghast, if you can believe it - but after you spoke he was all politeness. And now look at them," she said. She touched his shoulder. "I know it could not have been easy for you to aid in this, Commander. I thank you for your bravery."

"Any time," he said dully. Dorian chuckled as the ambassador went back to her post. Cullen growled, "Please tell me we're done."

"Not even close, Commander," said the mage as he delicately ate another small cheese. "Not even close."

* * *

The rest of the ball was a blur of color and sound with one fixed and unchanging point - Dmitri and Cassandra, together. The man monopolized her all evening, and she seemed more than happy to allow it. They talked and danced and strolled around the room like they'd known each other for years. Cullen stalked the perimeter with unwavering eyes, stopping only to talk to those who signaled him in conversations that seemed to always be the same.

No, he didn't dance. Yes, it was difficult to make the decisions of command. Yes, he was proud of his soldiers. No, he had no plans to move back to Ferelden.

Yes, the Inquisitor is just as delightful as she looks. She's very pleased you could attend this evening. Speak to her directly, if you wish. She enjoys meeting people. The Inquisition certainly was an interesting blend of people. Yes, the ball was very lovely. He would recommend the little cheeses.

Only when he registered that someone had asked him about his favorite sexual position did his fog lift enough to take in the person in front of him. He groaned. "Hello, Hawke."

"You didn't answer my question!" she said, grinning wickedly. "And it's Viscountess Hawke again, or hadn't you heard?"

"I'd heard that was the plan. Congratulations," he said, looking past her to where Cassandra was gesturing vigorously with a piece of fruit. What was she doing? Some kind of fighting demonstration? Telling a joke? It was hard to tell with her.

Hawke snapped her fingers in his face. "Honestly, you should just go and fight him for her. Give us a little entertainment," she said. "Even better if you both take your shirts off."

Varric joined them with a smile. "I thought Dorian and I already had bare chests well in hand, Hawke."

"You can never have too many sculpted chests on display," she said firmly. "But don't tell Fenris I said that."

"Yeah, where is Broody? I thought he'd be very excited to meet the Imperium's contingent."

"Too excited. He was pointedly not invited." Hawke shrugged with a grin. "He's wandering around the camps scouting the magisters' weaknesses so we can ambush them on their way back to Tevinter."

Cullen tore his eyes back to her. "Hawke," he said forbiddingly.

"Just seeing if you were paying attention, sweet Cullen. No, he's in Kirkwall manning my new fort while I look around the old family home. Or elfing it. Whatever."

"Don't call me sweet Cullen," he said.

Hawke grinned. "But you are so sweet, in love and pining with that chiseled jaw and wounded puppy eyes. It's making the women here quite jealous. I've already heard several of them talking about ways to get you to look at them that way. Some of them have been very inventive, and they're all looking for an edge, so if I could get an answer to my question about your favorite sexual position I'll have something good to barter with in the powder room."

He didn't answer, only glared at the two figures now settling in to another dance. Hawke pouted. "No? Ah Cullen. So loyal. So steadfast. So very sexy. I'm amazed Cassandra's been able to keep herself away from you tonight."

"She seems to be managing," said Cullen. He tried to remember the story. "She's clearly moved on to better things."

"If you say so. I'll leave you to your prowling," said Hawke. "Maker, I envy her tonight. Jealous sex is the best sex of all, especially with a strong man. So rough and controlling." She fluttered a fan across her face coquettishly. "Varric, make sure you tell me all the details later."

The dwarf followed when she left, much to Cullen's relief. He was jealous, so jealous he was practically sweating it through his pores, and the hell of it was he knew it was only making things worse. Dmitri was attentive and plying at all times, but whenever he caught Cullen's eye he added a little extra to his game, another kiss to her hand or a blinding smile that would leave anyone weak in the knees. Cassandra always had a glass of wine in her hand, and while Cullen knew she would never allow herself to get drunk, there was no question her movements were more deliberate and her color higher than it usually was. She was having a romantic evening with a charming prince, and the prince was twisting the blade of it directly into Cullen's gut.

Dmitri looked over at that moment and leaned to whisper something into his lady's ear. Cullen was sure he could smell the delicate soap that rose off of her skin, and he clenched his fists once more. Cassandra laughed lightly and swatted the Nevarran's shoulder while they danced. The prince looked smug as he shot another glance at him.

Cullen sighed, suddenly weary. This was foolish. Cassandra was a person, not a game, and none of Cullen's behavior was any credit to her. He fell into the rhythm of social conversation inside his own head. Yes, I love her. Yes, I want to be the one in her arms. Yes, yes yes. But no, it's not the time. No, it's not the place. No, I'm not the man.

But he couldn't give up watching her. She was his twinkling starlight in the middle of the crowd.

* * *

Another few blurred conversations later Ellana was at his side. "Dance with me, Commander."

"I don't dance," he said automatically.

"That wasn't a request. I'm the Inquisitor. Dance with me."

He made a face as she led him to the floor. "Isn't my night bad enough already?" he asked, only half-joking. Fortunately she was leading them away from the other pair. He looked around sharply. "Won't Solas hate this?"

"Maybe," she said evenly. "But they're my legs."

Cullen winced and apologized. She shrugged and settled him into a simple dancing position. She barely hit his chest, and her gown felt strange under his fingers, but he did the best he could with his posture. At least she looked herself again. Travel agreed with her. Color lived in her cheeks, and her smile was less like a paper mask stretched over a face. There was even the sparkle of humor that he'd missed in her illness.

He didn't know much about the art of dancing, but he at least stayed off of her feet as they slowly turned. "So why have I been called into service for the Inquisition now?" he asked.

"Mostly because we can't throw a ball where our Commander doesn't enjoy himself for even a second," she said. "It would hardly count as a ball. But also because I wanted to talk to you."

He waited while a knot of dancers worked their way around them, then looked at her expectantly. "You know Cassandra isn't enjoying this either, right?" she asked. "She wants to be with you."

"She seems okay without me," he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

Ellana huffed. "She's supposed to. We asked her to. She's following orders, being charming, opening up Nevarra for us." Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "I grant you that the prince has been… overwhelmingly attentive, but Cassandra is doing exactly what we need her to do. Stop taking your anger at my orders out on her."

"I'm not. I wasn't," he said. It was almost true. Until this evening, he'd worried he wouldn't measure up to a true suitor, but it had been a distant fear, like the fear of an avalanche at the Hold. Possible, always lurking, but not pressing around him every minute. He could push it aside and live. Now the reality was in front of him, the snow was falling, and there was nothing he could do but pray. He bowed his head and released his terror to Ellana in the softest whisper. "What if she falls in love with him?"

"Don't be an idiot."

He jerked back, stung. She clearly thought it was impossible for Cassandra to love someone else. Maybe it was. But Ellana didn't know what Cassandra looked like when she read about balls like this, where the handsome stranger met the beautiful woman and fell violently in love. Where he carried her off into the night with gentle words and sensuous touches. Skyhold only knew she had a weakness for stories. Cullen knew that she wanted to live one. And he hadn't given it to her, not in the least.

They were quiet for awhile, until Ellana said softly, "Don't fall apart for this. Please. I couldn't bear it."

"If that's true, why ask us to do it?" Well, ask her. He hadn't been given much choice. "You think there's no risk of us breaking, but there is. There always is. If it's so painful, even for you, surely there was another way."

"You won't break," she said. "She loves you. You're the one she wants."

Always the optimist. He didn't feel as sure of that as he had that morning. "I just wish I knew why it was so important," he sighed.

Ellana bit her lip and stilled their movements. "Cullen," she began, but his attention was caught by the sound of bright laughter piercing the room like a sword. A laugh he knew all too well, one he'd coaxed out of her only after painstaking, backbreaking effort. A laugh that meant she was truly, wonderfully, completely at peace.

The crowd became a theater curtain, parting to show Cassandra doubled up in mirth, clinging to Dmitri's broad shoulders to steady her as she shook. But it was no play, and they were no actors on a stage. Color rode high and bright on her cheeks, and her face held no more terror or nerves, only happiness. The only small, bitter comfort was that he didn't yet see any love for this man, this charming stranger who was so many things Cullen couldn't be. But the night was still young and the romance was palpable. It was only a matter of time.

He shook Ellana away from him. "I can't do this," he said. He whirled on his heel and strode to the nearest balcony before either of them could see his face.


	8. The Clock Strikes Midnight

The balcony he'd found was occupied, and he almost turned back before he realized who it was. Solas and Elissa. A strange combination, but not one he needed to hide from. He closed the balcony doors, much to the consternation of the guards flanking them, but at his pointed glare through the glass panes they saluted and stood at attention once more.

"Commander," said Solas with some surprise. The elf studied him closely, from the aching balls of his fists to the tightness in his shoulders. His eyes glittered. "Did you enjoy your dance with Ellana?"

Cullen growled. "Not now, Solas."

A flicker to his left had him spinning, looking for his sword, and he saw Cole crouched on the railing. The spirit's face twisted into a pattern of anger and blended pain, and Cullen realized it was a mirror of his own. "Falling, forgetting. She's as far from his hands as the sky from his eyes. Proud and perfect princes. Prizes to be won or lost, but who are the players?"

"Stop that," said Cullen.

Cole flinched, and Solas stepped forward with his hands raised. Elissa, Cullen noticed, was watching them all warily.

"Cole, I will handle this," said the mage.

"But he's hurting."

"Yes. But compassion need not come only from spirits," said Solas. "Are there no others who might appreciate your aid?"

Cole tilted his head to the side. "The dish broke. The lady will be unhappy. How far must I run this time?" he said in a distant voice. He snapped back to the present. "There are others. Do not cry, Cullen Rutherford."

Before Cullen could react, the spirit dropped off the side of the balcony and disappeared. Elissa rushed to the railing and looked down, then shook her head. "My sword arm always itches around him. Blasted abominations."

"He's not an abomination. There is no possession. He is simply a spirit, Your Grace," said Solas. He sounded weary, like he was tracing well-trod ground.

"There's no such thing as simply a spirit. I was at Kinloch. Hawke's told me about that mage, Anders. Things that look simple generally aren't," she said. "Cullen knows that better than any of us."

Cullen's mind seized on the argument, something else to think about besides the dancers he'd left behind. "What happened at Kinloch was blood magic, monstrous possessions. Torture. Death. There was nothing simple about it. And Anders…" He trailed off. "I failed there. I should have done something sooner. Things could have perhaps been prevented. He was unstable."

"Something like murdering him? Simply for harboring a benign spirit, out of kindness?" asked Solas. A grimace crossed his face. "If that's the punishment for showing mercy to another creature, Thedas will soon stand empty."

"Mass slaughter is hardly benign," snapped Cullen. He rubbed a hand along his arm. "Possession will always twist into something foul. Anders was a monster, a dangerous man, and I failed to recognize it in time. But Cole isn't like that, Your Majesty. I understand your wariness, and I shared it, but it's not possession. He's good. Harmless."

"All things are harmless. Until they harm," she said, shrugging. "But it's not my choice to make. The Inquisition makes its own laws, now." Her smile came soft and deadly. "Isn't Ferelden lucky we're such good friends?"

Silence fell, and there was only their breathing. "What troubles you, Commander?" asked Solas, words blending into the gloom of the night.

And just like that, the pain was back. "How do you two stomach it?" he asked. They said nothing, and he continued in a rush of words that poured out like blood. "Lovers who are loved by more than yourself? Who have choices who aren't you?"

He turned to Elissa with a snarl. "Your husband is currently dancing with my sister, who worships him like he's the Maker Himself. She's not the only one, and he indulges them all. And you," he added, pointing at Solas. "Ellana is beloved beyond anyone in Thedas. Holy. Revered. How can you stand in her shadow and not tear yourself apart?"

The elf's mouth quirked in amusement. "I suppose I should be grateful you even allow me her shadow." He sighed. "I tried to warn her that you do not have the temperament for this."

"Who in Thedas would?"

"A predator. A creature of instinct instead of thought. A being that knows what is its to have, and what is not," he said. He looked sidelong at Elissa. "Someone who regrets their kills but never doubts that they were needed."

The Queen nodded, and Cullen stared at her. "You've killed rivals for Alistair?" he asked incredulously. He'd almost believe it of Solas, but no matter her hardness Elissa Cousland had never struck him as homicidal.

She laughed. "Only metaphorically." She perched herself on the railing and gave him her full, unnerving attention. "Your sister is nothing. Flattery flows off of Alistair like water. Cleansing and refreshing, but ultimately wasted. Certainly he enjoys admiration - who doesn't - but you must realize the congenial vacuity is a pose."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. He still remembered Alistair's tale of what the Sloth demon had shown him in the Circle. A happy family reunion and all the cheese he could stomach.

"Mostly a pose," she amended. "He prefers women who are intelligent. Dangerous. Difficult to anticipate." She tipped him a smile. "He would like your Cassandra quite a bit. Fortunately most women who fit that description also know better than to tangle with me. The ones who don't learn quickly why they should have."

Her face softened a little in the starlight. "And he loves me. And I him. No one will sever that," she said. She turned her head to the glass of the balcony doors where dancers whirled past. "But once I had to fight, really fight. During the Blight. It was unkind, but it was necessary. Leliana loved him deeply."

Cullen stared at her. "Leliana and Alistair?" He shook his head. Surely he'd misunderstood. "He's like her brother. She's told me so."

"Of course she did," said Elissa. "I won."

Fear ran down his spine at the dark triumph in her voice, as though the long, bony finger of death had touched him, just for a moment. Solas's face held the same vicious understanding as the Queen's. No, Cullen wasn't like them in the least.

"Cassandra makes her own choices," he said quietly.

"Then you must endure," said Solas. There was no sympathy in him.

"Why?" asked Cullen. He pounded his hand into his fist. "Why should I endure, for something so small as a single country?"

Solas glanced at Elissa. She dropped lightly off of the railing and brushed a hand over her silk gown. "I'll just go check on the party," she said. She paused on her way to the door and placed a hand on Cullen's shoulder. "You should consider a more aggressive approach, Commander. Don't allow yourself to fade away. Even now there are women in there waiting for me to fall. Hoping my Calling will come and leave Alistair to their tender mercies. They'll be disappointed."

Her eyes were dark pools framed in lines of pain. He frowned at her. "Why would you hear it first? Alistair joined before you." He didn't know much about Grey Wardens, but after Adamant he knew enough about how the Calling worked to know that it went in order of service.

"I killed the archdemon. I bore children who were supposed to be impossible. My body wasn't built for so much blood," she said. "But the song doesn't frighten me. It's nothing compared to losing him. These women have no idea what I can endure. And you were at Kinloch. Find that strength inside of you again, Cullen."

She swept out gracefully and closed the door behind her. He turned back to Solas, slightly unsettled, but he didn't hesitate. "Why?"

Solas stared at him, unblinking. "Ellana is dying, Commander," he said. "She has only a few months remaining."

Cullen's stomach clenched in denial. "No," he said. "That's not true. She was sick, but now she's fine. She's dancing."

"Restorative magic, poured into her until she could take no more. Mine and her own. It will last long enough," he said. "This ball had another purpose besides the one you know. It will convince Thedas she remains strong. But the anchor she holds is power that wasn't meant to be carried by a mortal, and it is killing her. This will be her final trip from Skyhold unless I find what I need."

Cullen thought back over the dwindling lines of her, the energy she lacked, the thinness she couldn't disguise behind a beaming smile. Even as his mind rebelled, his heart believed and found focus. "What do you need? How can I help?"

"Something of my people's," said Solas. "I'd hoped to find it in the Wilds, but my efforts failed. The next place to look is Cumberland. In Nevarra."

He'd heard of that place recently, he knew, and then it clicked. "Grand Prince Dmitri."

"Precisely. What I need won't be uncovered by stealth or invasion. Not in time. The Mortalitasi are paranoid and quite adept at keeping their secrets. We need to be invited," said Solas.

"And Cassandra is your method of gaining an invitation."

"I do not pretend to understand the politics, but Leliana assured us Van Markham wouldn't be able to resist a potential alliance with her if it was presented. It seems she was correct." The elf crossed his arms. "As for how you can help, you can allow this to proceed. Cassandra is succeeding beyond all of our expectations. You have also aided, admittedly without knowing it. Continue to do so."

Cullen crossed to the banister and looked out over the fields. Campfires dotted the darkened horizon as the less exalted guests celebrated in their own way. "Why didn't you simply tell me?" he asked. "Did you think I wouldn't help her, to save her life? Or do you trust me so little?"

"This is a dangerous secret. We hoped it would not be necessary for you to know. Leliana decided."

"And now?"

"Ellana has overruled her," said Solas. "She is still the Inquisitor, after all."

Cullen sighed. "Who knows?"

"You. Me. Ellana. The Nightingale. And Cassandra."

He turned back in surprise. "Not Josephine?"

"No, Commander," said Solas. His eyes flickered with the distant flames. "As I said, this is a dangerous secret."

* * *

Cullen made sure to maintain his jealousy for the rest of the evening, not that it was difficult with Van Markham still flitting around Cassandra like an orange hummingbird. He couldn't afford to be altered. But when he saw Ellana again, he couldn't resist pulling her away from the tangle of the crowd that followed her. Officially he was apologizing for abandoning his lady on the dance floor. Unofficially, he ran one finger lightly over her cheek, next to her tear-bright eyes, and breathed a prayer for her as he bowed.

She believed in the Creators, the Dalish gods, but Cullen begged the Maker to allow this one small lapse to be overlooked and find mercy.

Josephine located him near the end of the evening and crowed that the Nevarrans were already beginning negotiations with her. Leliana appeared after and murmured that Solas had secured an invitation to the country, in the name of magical research and exchange. His skills with the Veil were well-known enough, and the budding relationship with the Inquisition promising enough, that it had been very little effort at all to convince them to allow him entry.

But, she told him, we must maintain their favor until all parties are satisfied with the outcome. Her expression didn't change and her tone never altered, but Cullen understood. Cassandra was still bound to a mission.

Which was why he found himself laying in bed that night, looking up to the canopy that hung over him and trying not to picture the end of his love's night. Would the prince walk her to her room? Surely not, the guards would never allow the incursion into the wing, but perhaps they would if she demanded it. She was intimidating. Would the man try to kiss her? Would she let him? If she did, would she do it for duty alone? Or perhaps there was a flame of want curling itself through her even now.

He was so caught up in his stomach-churning imaginations that he barely registered that someone had entered the room. He jumped when a voice said, "The head of the Inquisition's security should not be so easy to surprise." He snapped his head away from the ceiling and looked to the door.

Cassandra stared at him from the foot of his bed, and despite her teasing words there was no smile on her face. She'd changed into her usual evening clothes, a tunic and worn trousers, and Cullen briefly mourned the loss of the dress, even though he knew he couldn't have handled its temptations. "You shouldn't be here," he said.

"I know."

"If the pri - the Nevarran delegation finds out, they'll be offended at best. Aggressive at worst."

"Yes." Her face was stubborn and unmovable.

He ran a hand through his hair. "They told me what this was really about," he said. A flicker of concern ran across her face, and he acknowledged it. "We can't risk anything. She needs to live."

Cassandra didn't move towards him, but her hand reached out to touch the bedpost lightly. "All you say is true. I will leave, and we will both play our roles," she said. Her eyes were sad. "Now in true understanding. But first, will you dance with me?"

His breath caught in his throat. To dance with Cassandra. Even without the gowns and the gold buttons, it was all he'd craved. He looked down at himself. "I'm hardly dressed for it."

She smiled then, very slightly. "I think we are both attired in the way we prefer the other," she said. He frowned at the wistful quality in her voice, but when she took a step back from the bed and held out her hands he joined her.

But he bypassed her outstretched fingers and folded her to him so tightly that true dancing was impossible. That was fine. He didn't know how to do it anyway, and this was no ball. There were no dresses and braids, no people to press against them, and no music to follow. He smiled sadly and began to hum an old Fereldan song they'd played at the country dances of his youth. Its peasantry was ludicrous after an evening of such formality, but Cassandra didn't object.

He kept his hands still and steady around her - wandering would only lead to pain - and they said nothing as they turned slowly to the sound of his song. He wondered what she was thinking. He barely knew himself. The starlight didn't reach his room, and the sparkling midnight of Cassandra was gone. But the woman was here, and he'd wanted this so badly he'd barely been able to see anything else.

Eventually he reached the end of the tune, and he stepped away from her. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to know about her mind. He asked nothing at all, only bowed slightly and said, "Thank you for the dance, Princess."

She curtsied, as prettily as one could in trousers, and he forced a smile that turned genuine when she wobbled slightly as she straightened. They walked to his door slowly, trying to avoid what needed to be. "We can't do this again," he said as they reached it. "I can't be like this and continue." Close in the nights and distant in the day would kill him as easily as any blade.

"Yes. I have not been fair to you," she said. "I've asked you to accept hurt while at the same time asking you to relieve my own. I'm sorry."

Her cheek was smooth and warm under his fingers. "Never apologize for needing me. I'm sorry, too." Sorry he wasn't strong enough to hide his pain. Sorry he wasn't important, wasn't romantic, was a man who could only dance in secret shadows now, instead of in the light as she deserved.

She turned away and put a hand on the doorknob, but paused when he touched her shoulder. "One thing," he whispered. "I have to know. Did he kiss you?"

"No," she said. She spun back to face him. "No, of course not."

Princes were probably too polite for that, no matter how charming they were. Which was why he wasn't one of them. "Good. Then there's one thing I can still do," he said. He summoned all of his memories of the stories, of the way the balls' goodnights were supposed to go, and cupped her face in his hands. She breathed in sharply, and he drew her into a kiss that was chaste and far too brief. It still set his entire body aflame.

He pulled back reluctantly and dropped his hands. "You're more beautiful than words. Sleep well."

She slipped out on silent feet, and he fell back into his bed heavily. But at least his imaginations were slightly less afraid.

* * *

In the morning his mind was clear, sharper than it had been in weeks. Whether it was the new knowledge of the mission or simply the result of a hard sleep brought on by wine he didn't know, but he did know what he needed to do. Cassandra needed to keep Nevarra happy. He needed to stay sane, which would never happen with them both inside the close walls of Skyhold. And he needed an occupation, something to keep him busy. There was only one solution.

He found Ellana padding along the hallway, already losing some of the bloom of the previous night. He hated the lines deepening on her face and the half-focus of her eyes, though the latter may have simply been the early hour. She liked mornings almost as little as he did.

Cullen pulled her onto a bench in an alcove and gave her a comforting hug, the one he hadn't been able to give in the sight of all of Thedas. She returned it easily and looked at him when he finally drew back. "Do you feel better?"

"No," he said. "But I will when we've solved this." He drummed his fingers on his knee. "Leliana told me about the invitation to Nevarra. Send me, too."

She raised her eyebrows so high he thought they would disappear into her hairline. "You want to travel with them?" she asked. "Into Nevarra?"

Not particularly. "Yes," he said. "I want to help. Solas will need someone to watch his back. And I have to do something."

"I suppose you could be part of the diplomatic contingent," she said. "Even as the Commander of our forces. Nevarra appreciates fighting skill." Ellana bit her lip. "Are you sure you can do it without starting a war?"

"I end wars. I don't start them," he said with more confidence than he felt. She didn't look reassured. He took her hand in his. "Let me. Please. I won't let this fail."

When she didn't answer, a faint smile rose to his lips. "Consider it a request for a very long patrol."

"Very well," she replied after a long minute. She stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll talk to Josephine. Be ready to leave tomorrow, Commander."

* * *

Solas found him in the castle's inner practice yard later that morning, watching soldiers with half an eye while he wrote letters of instructions and notes for his captains with the rest of his attention. He didn't look up as the elf approached. "Not now, Solas. I assume we'll finalize our plans tonight, before we leave," said Cullen. He paused in the middle of a training schedule. "Are the Temple guardians joining you? Ellana implied you weren't traveling alone."

"It's a diplomatic exchange," said Solas. "There will be quite a few people in the party. The Nevarrans will send some of their own to Skyhold as well."

"Sounds more like a hostage exchange," said Cullen absently. Then the mage's words sunk in, and he paled and looked up. "Is Dmitri going with them?" Maker, he hadn't even considered that.

Solas looked puzzled. "No, he travels with us. He will be our host."

Almost as bad, but at least he wasn't leaving the man alone with his wife - former wife - for months. He smiled tightly and went back to his paperwork, then frowned when the elf's shadow didn't move. "Something on your mind?"

"I'm wondering why you volunteered for this, Commander."

"I needed occupation. To be of use," he said. He added more quietly, "And Cassandra needs distance from me."

"Ah," said Solas with a hint of embarrassment. "Ellana thought that you knew."

"Knew what?" he asked sharply.

"Cassandra was the one invited to Nevarra, by the Grand Prince. Personally," said Solas. He threw Cullen a glance that was as sympathetic as the man ever got. "We will be her retinue."


	9. David and Goliath

There was no way out of going.

Leliana had nearly punched him when he suggested rescinding his invitation, chastising him for even thinking of insulting their hosts. She'd also threatened him with arrows in considerably uncomfortable places if he hinted at it to Josephine. She needn't have worried; he wasn't nearly that brave. The ambassador's smile was practically incandescent when she inspected her new diplomatic corps that evening, and Cullen tried his best to hide his discomfort by examining the group.

Cassandra was there, of course, as was Solas. He avoided both of their eyes. Dorian, to his surprise, was also sprawled in a stuffed chair awaiting orders. When he caught Cullen's puzzled expression, he smiled. "A necromancer is welcome wherever he goes, particularly in a land so obsessed with death as Nevarra," he said. "Granted they prefer their corpses a little less ambulatory, at least officially, but secretly I fascinate them. A common reaction."

There were a few other familiar faces; a woman posing as Cassandra's maid who he recognized as one of Leliana's highest ranking operatives, two actual servants who read lips and wielded kitchen knives like Antivan Crows, and some of his own soldiers as official guard. Two days ago he would have been shocked at the amount of death lurking in the hands of a diplomatic mission. Now he only hoped they wouldn't need it, or, if they did, that it would be enough.

Josephine still hadn't started her speech after he'd memorized every object in the room, and he was starting to recite Chants in his head in a desperate bid to stay awake when his brother walked in. Cullen straightened immediately. "What are you doing here?"

The ambassador waved her hand. "The Queen requested he accompany us as her envoy. The Nevarrans agreed. There is no harm in reminding the Prince that we are not friendless," she said.

"But he's under my command, now," said Cullen. "She can't do that."

"In this instance, the chain of military command may need to be somewhat more flexible than is traditionally understood," she said. The warning in her eyes kept the rest of his protests silent.

"Don't worry, Cullen, I won't embarrass you," said Darren with a grin. He remained standing, leaning against the wall near the door. "I'll even keep taking your orders. When I want to."

Cullen folded his arms and sat back in his seat as Josephine began her instructions for the official visit. They boiled down to, in essentials, be nice, but she found a truly staggering number of words to wrap the message in. He also received scrolls of Nevarran customs and pastimes which he was instructed to read before they left. He nodded obediently but looked at Solas. This was just the surface briefing. The elf would tell him what he needed to know later.

* * *

But he didn't. Solas was nowhere to be found that night or the next morning, though Cullen searched everywhere. Well, everywhere except Ellana's room. Which, in fairness, was the most likely place for him to be, but Cullen wasn't suicidal.

Instead he said goodbye to his family with Darren. Mia was still vibrating with excitement over her evening with her idol - "He said I could write him!" - but she managed to summon up a few tears for the departure. "It's been so good to see you both, to have us all together, and now it's over again so soon," she said. "Promise me you'll come to the farm for a holiday. Before the year is out."

"I'll have to see if my commanding officer will allow it," said Darren. He laughed when Cullen rolled his eyes.

Alice only ignored him when he mussed her hair and said she still owed him a pair of pants, and Katrine and Alistair climbed on his back like wild things while he threw them to Darren with less and less energy. Brandon offered a solemn handshake and a look that said Cullen still wasn't forgiven for being the conduit of fulfilling his wife's dream meeting. Peter, to Cullen's amusement, saluted him, but he returned it gravely.

A newly deployed squad was escorting them back, and he and Darren watched them until they were out of sight. "Well, brother," said Darren. "It's just the two of us. The Rutherford boys in Nevarra. Sounds like a children's tale, and not a very good one." He clapped his hand across Cullen's back. "Try not to look so grim about it all."

* * *

Solas didn't find them again until they were ready to depart, and Cullen didn't dare ask him where he'd been. The rest of the Inquisition saw them off with varying degrees of enthusiasm and worry. Cullen shook hands and slapped backs wherever he could, but eventually the groups were separated into uncomfortable sides.

Bull was the last to step across the unacknowledged line, and he paused when Cullen grabbed his arm. "Take care of her, Bull," he said, nodding at the Inquisitor. She'd remained outside the circle of goodbyes, claiming her clan eschewed such emotive displays, but Cullen couldn't help but see her exhaustion.

"You got it," he said. "Take care of that one, too." Cullen didn't even need to look to know he was looking at Cassandra.

"She takes care of herself," said Cullen. "And the rest of us, without any help from me."

"Just because she doesn't need help doesn't mean she shouldn't have it," said Bull. "You're good together. Watch out for the enemies she doesn't see."

Cullen nodded and let the qunari go. Dmitri's group swung into view and mixed in with the Inquisition's forces. _Delegation_ , he corrected himself. This was merely a cultural exchange before negotiations. He was a diplomat now. A visitor and pleasant guest, furthering understanding between two worlds. He wasn't even wearing his armor, just basic road gear.

He swung onto his horse with easy grace and made sure the prince saw the sword that still sat sheathed on his hip.

Dmitri smiled from his own mount. "Princess Pentaghast, I look forward to officially welcoming you home," he said in his heavy accent. "As well as each of your dear friends. Shall we depart?"

Cullen didn't react as the man took a place next to her, which seemed to disappoint him. Good. That meant he was doing something right, finally.

As they trailed onto the road that would take them north, he sought out Ellana again to say another goodbye, but her eyes were for Solas alone. Her lover was no less absorbed with her, and something passed between them that was too complicated for Cullen's to grasp. He had no more hope of breaking through it than he had of growing another limb. Instead something else tugged at his attention, and he turned forward again. Cassandra's gaze met his, just for a moment, and he saw the same knowledge reflected in her lines, of the lasts that could be. The endings that beckoned.

They would make sure they were never found.

* * *

The journey settled into an easy routine. After the slow progress of the caravan it was almost a relief to be moving so quickly and thinking so little. The Nevarrans might be somber, save one, but they clearly knew what they were about. Cullen had worried he would need to protect both groups, but they almost insisted that he do nothing of all.

Of course, that only raised his suspicions. He also couldn't trust a strange force to guard them, especially at night, even if they'd been true allies. But as the days wore on he gained confidence that they weren't going to slaughter them all, and he could relax into some semblance of rest.

Strangely enough, the Nevarran guards seemed to want to impress the Inquisition's Commander more than anything, and Cullen was gratified by it. Despite what Dmitri had said about the generic nature of his leadership, it was clear his reputation carried some weight with the prince's fighters. They took delight in sparring with his soldiers, learning and teaching different techniques, and while Cullen never participated in any more than the basic drills, he did offer advice and instruction to any who wanted it.

Cassandra, on the other hand, took on all comers, and she beat them soundly and efficiently. Nevarrans trained in a way he'd never seen, with weighted sticks instead of blades, and Cullen was only just competent at it after a week of practice. But of course she'd been familiar with them in her childhood, and a watcher never would have known she'd left. The sparring ring was a different kind of ball, with a different kind of dancing, but she was no less impressive in it. Only Dmitri declined to test her, watching his and Cullen's soldiers fall to the light taps of her wooden stick with a curious smile.

His Highness seemed less inclined to needle Cullen as they rode, either growing weary of the game or simply annoyed that it wasn't more effective. He still spoke with Cassandra frequently, and almost always rode beside her, but it wasn't so pointed, or so flirtatious, once Cullen forced himself into stoicism and indifference at every touch. The farther they went, the easier it was, and only in the privacy of his tent at night did he allow himself to worry about how simple it was becoming to pretend she meant nothing to him.

Dorian fell in quickly with the non-royal dignitaries, and when they camped he constantly discussed magical theory with them in the most animated terms. Ironically the scholars and mages became more alive the more they talked about the dead, and while the philosophy and ethics of necromancy was never a topic Cullen felt comfortable wading into, he listened closely to their debates. He'd read Josephine's background material, as instructed, but this would tell him more about the people than any papers ever could. And since Solas was still avoiding him, wisely enough given their circumstances, he had to gather what intelligence he could on his own.

* * *

A day out from the ships that would take them to their final destination, they broke for the night on a cliff near Highever. The view overlooked the northern part of the Bannorn, a rich and rolling farmland, and Cullen settled happily on the grass with his dinner. The sun was still high enough to make the land golden, and while the fields were still fallow, he delighted in the wind that waved the grasses that remained for grazing.

Peace. That was what Ferelden always brought him now, peace and contentment. There was only one thing missing, but she was near enough to almost touch perfection. And perhaps she would join him, silent and still, and they would live in worlds that overlapped once more.

When a body dropped next to him he almost gasped, terrified his thoughts had been so fervent that the Maker had given him a gift he couldn't accept, but instead it was a man's voice that greeted him. "Commander Rutherford. You're so silent on this trip."

It was the right accent on the wrong gender. Cullen's peace fled, but he searched for what calm he could find. "Your Highness. I'm afraid I don't have much conversation to offer. But rest assured if the need arises, I will meet the challenge."

"I have no doubt," said the prince, laughing lightly. "But allow me to take a cue from your own royalty. Formality among new allies is unpardonable. Please call me Dmitri."

He nodded reluctantly. "And my name is Cullen. Though King Alistair isn't my royalty. I serve the Inquisitor," he said.

"Of course. But your brother tells me that native sons of Ferelden hold it always in their hearts," said Dmitri. He smiled at Cullen's skeptical eyebrow. "Perhaps he did not say it so eloquently. But it is a beautiful country." He looked out over the expanse of spring. "I'm glad to have seen it. I'm sure it's not easily forgotten, even in a place such as Kirkwall."

Cullen's mouth drew into a thin line at the heavy meaning in the man's voice. Was this the new game? Some kind of interrogation? Reminding him of his past failures? A question with a question, that was the key. "How does Cumberland compare to Kirkwall, both being port cities?"

"You'll soon see for yourself," said Dmitri dismissively. Stalemate.

The sun crept towards the horizon as they sat in silence. Josephine would have slapped the back of his head for his lack of alliance-forging, if she were here, and he was glad she wasn't. Eventually the Nevarran smiled softly. "Cassandra said you were a stubborn one," he said. Cullen was suppressing another wave of anger - they talked about him? - when Dmitri rolled to his feet. "Let's spar."

He stayed where he was. "I don't duel anymore," he lied. He returned the smile. "I'm too old."

"Not a duel. It wouldn't be even considering your lack of experience with the sticks. Just sparring," said Dmitri. "Surely you can't object to that. I'll go easy on you."

As if Cullen was that green. Still, the man had him backed into a corner. "If you wish."

When they reached the practice equipment the soldiers had set out, a buzz went up over the camp. Its occupants quickly gathered around the open field in a loose circle. The guards on the perimeter, both his and the Dmitri's, turned inward briefly before whirling back with a look of envy on their face. Cullen approved of their discipline, but not the eagerness on the faces of the rest. "If this is to be only a workout, I don't think we'll live up to their expectations," he said quietly.

"It all depends on what those expectations are, wouldn't you say?"

Dmitri threw him a stick. Cullen tested its balance and strength, only newly familiar with the things, but it seemed well-suited to his hand. He looked up to offer his thanks, but stopped abruptly when he saw the royal shrugging his way out of his shirt. Cullen narrowed his eyes. Expectations indeed.

He drew a sparring circle with his foot, pointedly leaving his clothing on. "I've heard of light armor before, but Nevarra seems to have taken that to extremes," he said. It was hard not to notice the way a good portion of their audience was reacting to the new expanse of muscle and skin in front of them. For a man who avoided the front lines of battle, the prince certainly kept himself in good condition. Even if he was far too pale. The light color that looked like flawless beauty on Cassandra was weakness on him.

"No sense in spoiling a good shirt," said Dmitri with a shrug. "That goes for you as well."

He heard a laugh behind him, probably Dorian, and frowned. "I don't own any good shirts," he replied. He was just about to settle into a fighting stance when Cassandra walked out of her tent and froze. Her eyes flicked from the weapons to their faces to the crowd surrounding them, and Cullen groaned inwardly. She probably thought they were dueling for her favor or something equally idiotic.

Cullen started to explain, but Dmitri beat him to it. "Cassandra," he said, stepping forward and bowing politely. "Your Commander has graciously indulged me in a bit of exercise before the sun leaves us behind. Just a light sparring session."

"I see. You must be planning to sweat profusely in your  _light_ sparring session," she said dryly. Cullen gripped his stick until his knuckles whitened as her eyes traveled over the man's torso.

Dmitri laughed. "I hope to. Cullen seems convinced he is in better condition than I am, though," he said. "He doesn't fear for his shirt."

"Much to all of our displeasure," called out Dorian, and the crowd around them chuckled. There was even a low whistle from the back. Cullen flushed red. He turned to glare at the mage, and his brother joined in the censure, elbowing the man for good measure.

But a cough had him spinning back towards the real threat. "Surely you wouldn't see your colleague risk his clothing for no reason," said Dmitri, cutting a speculative eye at Cassandra. "I'm sure he'll follow any instruction you give him, Princess."

So that was it. A test, not of him but of her. Foolish to think the fighting would happen inside the ring.

But the prince had chosen the wrong opponent. Cassandra was impassive and unbreakable in any arena. Her face never changed as she looked back to Cullen. "I do not presume to order the Commander to do anything," she said. "Nevertheless, if he were to attire himself less appropriately, I would have no objection."

More laughter rose, and Cullen tried, unsuccessfully, to stop his cheeks from flaming again. The prince smiled thinly. "Who could?"

Cassandra's expression gave him no clues as to what he should do, but he thought - or imagined - that he saw a spark of fire deep in her eyes. It decided him, and he stared at the ground as he stripped off his own shirt. The crowd applauded lightly. Cullen stepped forward into readiness and flexed his arms, feeling very exposed and very foolish.

And, truth be told, slightly aroused. Even if Skyhold hadn't been the coldest place in Thedas, the Inquisition trained with armor, always. So had the Templars. He'd no more train with bared skin than with a sprig of daisies behind his ear, but something about doing it here felt primal and dangerous in a way he rarely did. It didn't hurt that Cassandra's dark eyes were on him. Or that all of the memories of her hands and lips grazing the planes of his stomach were rushing to fill the present.

He shook his head as Dmitri approached in his own stance. Cassandra sat on the ground quietly, face still holding no more than polite attention, but the prince seemed to have lost interest now that the test was over. "Excellent. Now, we fight."

* * *

The best part of the boat journey was the weather, foul as it was. The only safe place from the constant winds and rain were the cabins below decks, claimed for Dmitri and Cassandra exclusively. Cassandra, never a good sailor at the best of times, stayed in hers being thoroughly sick. The only people allowed to enter were her maid and Solas, for healing, and no princes or commanders were tolerated. It was a comfort not to be the only one barred for once, even though Cullen was wet and cold nearly all the time.

"I thought it was supposed to be warmer in the north," he said to Dorian once as they shivered in the hold.

"My north doesn't have so much bloody water in it. And what we have, we keep on the ground," said Dorian. "I do know a few fire spells, you know."

"If you start a fire on this boat and sink us I will never forgive you," said Darren. He was, if possible, even wetter than the other two men. He'd tried to fashion a blanket into a shelter but had only succeeded in gathering enough water in a puddle atop it to drench him when the ship listed.

"Wet wood would never light properly." Dorian looked longingly at his fingers. "And it would be so warm if it did."

"Briefly," said Cullen. "Very briefly."

The mage sighed. "I supposed you're right." He brightened. "At least I can claim the distinction of having seen two Rutherfords with their shirts plastered to their chests. It's almost better than no shirt at all. A singular honor, to be sure."

Darren scowled, and Cullen pushed away from the wall. "His Highness seems less concerned about the fate of my shirts now, at least," he said. "I'm going above. Maybe they've found a patch of sunlight."

He ignored their scoffs and tested his hope. It was a fast test. One frigid lap of the deck showed only clouds and roiling seas as far as the eye could see. Which wasn't very far. There was no land in sight, and if he hadn't known about the other ships in their convoy, he wasn't sure he'd be able to pick them out against the gray sky. As it was he could barely see the faint, blurry outline of waving masts in the distance. He sighed. At least they didn't have the mounts on this ship. He'd never seen a horse get seasick, but he couldn't imagine it was an improvement on the human sort.

That turned his thoughts, as always, to Cassandra. He hoped she was okay. Maybe he could take her something. A book. A drink. Something, so he could see how she was holding up.

He rifled his mind through his few possessions, trying to come up with something that would work as an excuse as he made his way back down to the hold again. He was so caught up in his mental inventory that he almost ran into the two bodies pressed passionately against the outer wall.

The two male bodies. Dorian stepped away and stood firm without even a lift of his eyebrow, but Darren bolted, rushing past Cullen with only a murmur and a hand across the back of a reddening neck. Cullen stared after him in shock. He'd wondered, at least a little, but Dorian was an outrageous flirt with everyone and his brother was no better. It had seemed like Sera and Alice, two people who got along so well outside the bedroom that they couldn't help but joke about the inside of it.

But he'd seemed very... enthusiastic, just now. Cullen frowned, thinking back. What had made him so certain his brother wasn't serious? He'd only ever seen him teasing Dorian. He'd just assumed his brother was a flirt because, well, it must be. Why else would he banter with another man?

Cullen grimaced at his blindness, still ingrained in him after all this time in the world. Some brother he was. Some person. He needed to give Darren an apology, even if he didn't know he deserved one.

But first thing first. Dorian's expression still hadn't changed, but his shoulders were tense. "Are you going to chastise the evil Tevinter mage for corrupting your family?" he asked. His voice was laced with careless sarcasm that Cullen knew better than to believe.

"Of course not," he said, and Dorian relaxed a little. "Besides, if I was going to worry about corrupting influences, I would have had to exile Sera long ago."

"True enough, I suppose."

The walls of the ship creaked and groaned as Cullen searched for the right words. "I know you, Dorian. You're a good man, even if you prefer to keep that hidden. I can't imagine you being anything but a good influence on anyone," he said. "No matter what your father thought."

"If you could tell him that in the next Inquisitorial dispatch, I'd be most grateful," said Dorian lightly. "I appreciate your trust."

"It's been well-earned." Cullen braced himself. "Nevertheless, be careful with him. I'm still an older brother, for all I'm your friend. I don't want him to get hurt."

Dorian laughed bitterly. "Not so much trust then," he said. "Don't worry, the big, nefarious lecher will be exceedingly careful."

"Stop it. You know as well as I do that you're hardly serious about your partners," he said. "For Andraste's sake, you're thinking about getting married for political gain. That's fine, but don't get Darren caught up in it. He's just a kid."

"He's thirty. Older than I am, in fact. Hardly an ingenue."

Cullen shook his head. "In this, he'll always be a kid," he said firmly.

"I see," said Dorian. He placed a hand to his temple, shading his eyes. "For what it's worth, I have tried to keep my distance."

That had been Dorian at a distance? The mage must have read the disbelief on his face, because he laughed more genuinely. "Well you can't expect me not to flirt at all. I'm only human," he said. "And Darren has truly magnificent shoulders. Those, and his other attributes, are more than worthy of your name."

"Please," said Cullen quickly. "I believe you." Maker's breath, that was the last thing he needed to know.

Dorian's grin was pure evil. "Come now, that's hardly what I meant. I have no way of knowing, yet. Don't worry, you need not fear for your brother's virtue. From me, anyway. I can't vouch for his past."

"It's fine. Don't trouble yourself to explain. It's none of my business." Cullen rubbed a hand across his face. This was worse than the time he'd walked in on Mia and her friend discussing a neighbor boy in terms he'd been completely unprepared to hear. At least they hadn't been talking about someone he was related to.

"Very well. For now. But if you want me to stop explaining forever, you're going to have to make your reaction much less amusing."

Cullen rolled his eyes and pushed past him to find his bag. The original object of his mission, he reminded himself.

"Cullen," said Dorian quietly. Seriously.

He turned around with a questioning look.

"What I was going to say was that I did try to avoid this. I'm not unaware of my own complications. But your brother is a very persistent man. And competitive." The mage sighed. "And I do care about him. I'll keep him as clear of it all as I can."

"That's all I ask," said Cullen. He slung his bag over his shoulder, then paused. "What do you mean he's competitive? Has there been someone else vying for your attention? More than usual, I mean." Putting Dorian in a room full of Orlesians never failed to result in a thrown gauntlet.

Dorian cocked his head winsomely. "There's only one man in this world he deigns to compete with. Your looks are well-known, Cullen. And well-known to be admired by me," he said. Cullen's mouth dropped, and Dorian shrugged. He smiled again. "Still, he's the clear winner. But don't tell him so. It's such a delight when he tries to prove himself."

Cullen watched the mage walk away with trepidation. So many new things to navigate. And he owed Darren that apology.

He would give it. But only after, if the Maker willed it, Cassandra consented to talk to him for a very long time.


	10. Rags to Riches

If someone had told Cullen that he would end his trip with Dmitri Van Markham as the only travel companion speaking to him, he would have checked them for a head wound. But here he was, led through Cumberland by a royal who was acting less like a Grand Prince and more like a town greeter while the rest of the group ranged ahead and behind.

Cassandra had rebuffed all his attempt to see her on the ship, probably wisely, but even off of it she'd barely said ten words to him together since he'd allowed Dmitri to drag him into their sparring session. Whether she was angry or simply annoyed he didn't know, but there was a decided chill emanating from her direction. Solas was still doing his best impression of a total stranger, though Cullen was resolved to force a confidence with him as soon as he could.

Both of them were complicated, and he hadn't expected much camaraderie. But Darren and Dorian had blindsided him.

He'd tried to talk to Darren, to apologize for his own assumptions and assure him that he was supportive of anything his brother chose. It had been an unmitigated disaster. Darren had been irritable already and had taken Cullen's reassurances as condescensions instead. He'd also sensed Cullen's hesitation in endorsing his choice, and he'd only scoffed when Cullen tried to explain it was because Dorian was _the_ man and not that Dorian was _a_ man.

Cullen's final attempt at rebuilding any kind of bridge had been desperate, foolish humor, which had sealed the defeat. When he'd chuckled that Mia would be surprised to learn of the fictitious women she'd believed in so fervently, Darren had shoved him into the nearest bulkhead and stormed off, muttering that people were more than capable of enjoying both, and he wasn't a liar.

He wished someone from the inner circle had been there, if only for him to say, "See? This is what humor leads to."

Darren's easy smile was gone, replaced with daggers and knives whenever Cullen looked his way. Dorian had clearly chosen a side as well, though at least his expression was sympathetic. When Darren wasn't looking, anyway. Cullen could hardly blame the mage, and in fact gave him credit for it - had their positions been reversed, nothing could have persuaded him to leave Cassandra unhappy and sulking - but he hadn't been looking forward to stepping into a potentially hostile city with only hostile friends.

Which had made the shock of Dmitri nosing his horse alongside Cullen's even stronger. If he'd thought about it at all, he would have said that the prince would triumph in the isolation of his rival. Not break it.

"This is the temple where the deceased are viewed before the Mortalitasi take charge of them," he said, waving his hand to a tall, domed building to the east. He managed to turn the gesture into an acknowledgment to the citizens who had lined the streets to watch the procession pass, and they waved back. Cullen was relieved to see that they were smiling. Between the somber discussions of the dignitaries and the determined focus of the soldiers, Cullen had wondered if they were going to arrive to a nation of constant mourners.

Dmitri continued as he smiled at a clump of children waving colored flags. "It's the central part of the Necropolis. Oh, I know, the Grand Necropolis is in the capital, but ours was the first. The temple is considered a triumph of architecture. The rounded dome was designed at the precise dimension and angle so as to press against the Veil without breaking through, to allow for perfect transfer of the soul to the next world."

"Nonsense," said Solas. He was riding close enough to listen, but he hadn't spoken until now. "The Veil can no more be pressed by something physical than you could contain mercy in a box. Ideas are not tangible. No more is the separation between our world and the Fade."

"Ah, but when a criminal receives notice of his pardon, does mercy not fly out to greet him when the scroll is unfurled?" asked Dmitri. "Simply because it is only a piece of the whole of the notion does not mean it cannot be held inside of something."

Solas's mouth curved into a sardonic smile, and Dmitri returned it. "But yes, in truth it's because the dome allows for circulation, to avoid the air becoming stale with decay. Please don't tell my countrymen. They prefer the more romantic notions of death."

"They? Meaning you don't?" asked Cullen. "I thought all of Nevarra was obsessed with death."

"And I thought any Fereldan would sooner abandon a child than their faithful dog. Yet you travel beside me, unencumbered by a hound," said Dmitri sharply.

Cullen winced and apologized. The prince accepted it, and his usual careless manner returned. "The transition of our souls into the Fade is the most important moment of our existence," he said. "But only a fool mistakes importance for beauty."

"Yes. Death is anything but beautiful," said Cullen. All those battlefields. Even worse the ones that had looked like a battlefield but should never have been. Kinloch. The roads of Kirkwall, choked and burning with rotted flesh. He felt suddenly old, weary of a world that only seemed to exist to tear itself apart. And now he was here, in this country, doing what? Spying? Stealing? Starting another war?

Solas moved in his saddle, and Cullen shook himself. He was stopping a war, not starting one. Stopping a death. Saving the woman who'd brought peace to Thedas. There was no room for melancholy in it.

The prince looked at him appraisingly. "It is rare to find an artist so contemptuous of his craft. Little wonder your enemies find it difficult to despise the armies of the Inquisition." He straightened and waved his hand again. "Over there is the marketplace. The largest one in Nevarra, even outside of the capital. The merchants claim anything can be found in its stalls. Perhaps you will find something to gift your lady."

Cullen clenched his jaw. So much for the moment of peace. "I'm surprised you're giving this tour to me instead of to Cassandra. I would have thought you'd be anxious to boast about your city," he said.

"Excellence requires no boasting, Cullen, as you well know," said Dmitri. "And Cassandra has little need of an introduction to Cumberland. She knows it almost as well as I do." He cocked his head. "Have you not noticed she's been leading our procession?"

Cullen started and looked towards the front. The man was right. Cassandra had been on point from the beginning and hadn't once looked back for directions. Dmitri laughed at his confusion. "She spent much of her youth here, and she was an excellent adventuring companion. Both she and her brother."

"You knew her as a child?" asked Cullen. Why hadn't Cassandra told him that this was someone she already knew?

"Quite well. I was the youngest of my brothers, and she was the younger as well, so we had a natural and common enemy," said Dmitri. He smiled. "There were many times they received punishments for something we did on their behalf."

"Cassandra helped you pull pranks? On her brother?" asked Cullen with more than a hint of disbelief. She didn't speak of Anthony often, but when she did it was almost reverent. Bitterness at his death, but worship for his life. He shook his head. "She would never do something like that."

"Now? Perhaps not," admitted Dmitri. "Anthony's death clearly changed her more profoundly than I realized. The Cassandra Pentaghast I knew never giggled, but she did laugh. I don't see that inside of her now."

_Except with you,_ thought Cullen. The ball, and her beautiful, wild laughter inside of it. His fingers tightened around his reins. "There's nothing wrong with taking the world seriously. These are serious times."

"All times are serious. They will only become more so if they are met without humor."

"Easy to say from there," said Cullen, nodding at the approaching palace.

To his surprise, the prince nodded as well. "Yes. Easier than it should be. Which is why Cassandra is important. She chose to leave her palace and serve. She is a Nevarran who is no longer enamored of it," he said. All traces of amiability left his face as he reached out and pulled Cullen's horse to a stop. "My country needs her, Commander. Her country. Nevarra is a snake eating its own tail, and she is the one who can cleave us into something that sees outside of itself again."

Cullen fought to keep his face expressionless. This man knew nothing of what it was to need Cassandra. But Dmitri's words rushed ahead without pause. "I understand better than you know what she is. I know what I am asking of you. I don't expect you to agree, yet. But please judge without prejudice," he said. He bowed his head. "She has convinced me that you are an honorable man. I won't ask you to make an impossible choice, only to allow her to make her own. Without interference from you."

The Seeker had turned around at the slowing of the party and was watching them intently. She'd said he was honorable. He wasn't sure any man was honorable enough for this. He looked inside of himself to find it, but the soldier was fleeing, the Templar fading, and he was just a man in love. Where was the honor in that? But he'd promised her to do what was needed. "I'll try," he said. "Though I make no promises about tolerating your own interferences."

Dmitri laughed, suddenly the delighted royal again. He spurred his horse forward towards the gates of the palace. "And they told me you were no politician."

* * *

Two weeks passed in the palace as smoothly as the silk they all wore each evening. Josephine had sent ahead to have formal clothing waiting for them, to both delight and annoyance, depending on who it was. Dorian was both happy and put out, as the ambassador had been informed of Tevinter's true fashion landscape by the dignitaries at the ball, but he still wore each new article with gusto. Cullen tried to stick to the simplest ones but still managed to arrive at one dinner with his shirt on backwards.

By unspoken agreement the group split up in the day into their specific talents. Cassandra spent time with the nobility, many of whom remembered her from her previous time in the city. Fortunately they were prepared for her pure military dedication and no one commented on her utilitarian daytime clothing, otherwise the diplomatic aspects may have ended before they even began. Her maid accompanied her everywhere, no doubt taking notes for very heavy raven dispatches back to Skyhold.

Dorian and Solas spent their time with the Mortalitasi and the priests. The elf was still avoiding him, but by all accounts Solas let Dorian provide a distraction while he asked the innocent and not-so-innocent questions. After one of their trips, Cullen heard nothing but awed mutterings in the palace about how the Tevinter mage had made a corpse come to life and do a perfect waltz around the crypt. When they asked him if all Tevinter mages could work such magic, Cullen assured them that Dorian was a highly-trained prodigy. And when he asked Dorian, just to make sure that was the case, the man smiled. "You are exactly right, Commander," he said with a wink. "Though I don't know what all the fuss is about. The waltz was sloppy at best."

"Maybe put a stop to the dancing, at least for now," said Cullen. "Not everyone here thinks you're awe-inspiring." In his wanderings around the city, among the less-exalted members of society, he'd caught more than one person decrying the man as blasphemous. Even unnatural.

When he said as much, Dorian only laughed. "I've been called unnatural my entire life. I've grown accustomed to it," he said. "Besides, what I do isn't so different from their own mages, it seems. We both take a dead body and make it a little less dead, with some help from some friendly and harmless Fade spirits. I simply imbue mine with a little more purpose."

"I thought their rituals were highly secret," said Cullen suspiciously.

"I have a way of opening men up." Dorian raised his hands at Cullen's glare. "Joking, Commander. I suspect they simply haven't had anyone with my particular talents visit in some time. Necromancers of any skill are exceedingly rare. And Solas, well, even he doesn't know everything he knows, so it's hardly surprising they underestimate him. They were kind enough to let us observe a rite, with the understanding nothing would be explained. Between us, we didn't need much explanation. They press into the Fade with their magic and release wisps into the body. Balance, you see, to allow the spirit a place to rest across the Veil. Nonsense, but magically sound."

"So does that mean you can become a Mortalitasi now?"

Dorian brightened. "You know, I'd never considered that. Black is a color that works very well with my skin tone," he said. He shook his head. "But no. They have too many restrictions. Rules. I do my best work uninhibited. Your brother can vouch for that."

Darren likely could have, if he was speaking to Cullen. His brother only joined him in working with the guards, soldiers, and even the servants and nobles who took a fancy to do some training. The palace had bigger training yards than Skyhold, circles and squares resting among smooth white pillars, and Cullen wondered why a country without a war to fight needed so much space to ready for it.

It became clear as more and more people filed through each day. It seemed every person in Nevarra, man and woman, was at least proficient with the sticks, and a good half of them were proficient with true weapons as well. Despite the huge courtyards, it was rare to find them even partially empty. That was good, for now, as it gave Cullen plenty to occupy him and enough partners to exhaust him past the point of dreams each night. It was bad, for the future, as Cullen had to revise his assessment of Nevarra as a potential threat to the Inquisition. They were much deadlier than he'd realized. His troops could likely take the country, if they had to. They were the best because he demanded it. But it would be very hard fought. The official military numbers were only a portion of the resistance they would face if the people were decided against them.

Still, if they were more of a threat than he'd realized, it was still only in potential. At the moment they were friendly and eager to talk to both him and Darren, and he spent several happy hours each day working with whoever asked. Cassandra and Dmitri came by daily with their group of nobility, and Cullen did his best to ignore them. It was easier here to lose them in the crowd, and neither of them ever joined in the sparring.

Until the day Dmitri came alone. Cullen didn't even notice him until the prince was shining with the sheen of several completed bouts. While Cullen had seen that nobles and servants were treated roughly equally in the yards, he would have expected their ruler to receive some kind of special treatment. He would have been wrong. In fact, the only reason Cullen even saw him at all was simply because the man was so good. No matter who fought him, they fought hard, and fell each time. It was a talent that couldn't help but draw the eye.

After Dmitri dispatched his final challenger, a woman who'd dumped Cullen on his back more than once before they'd switched to more familiar weapons, he looked over at Cullen and nodded when he met his gaze. The woman bowed and made the complicated gesture with her hand that Cullen had seen but not yet deciphered. It didn't happen after all matches, but it was frequent enough that it clearly wasn't a coincidence, or even specific to a kind of fighter. He made a note to ask Dmitri what it was. The few people he'd asked hadn't been inclined to tell him, but the royal had been a font of information ever since they'd landed.

The prince bowed in return and walked away from the ring, wiping himself down with a cloth. Cullen squinted. No, not a cloth. His shirt. Which, of course, he'd removed again long ago.

"So much for saving your good shirts," said Cullen sourly when the man stopped in front of him.

"I'm in my own palace. I have hundreds of shirts."

"Then why not just wear it?"

Dmitri's pale mouth slashed a sideways grin reminiscent of Sera. "I'd never forgive myself if I tore one."

Cullen rolled his eyes, still a little off-balance by the new rapprochement between the two of them. "Two questions for you, if I may."

"Of course."

"Why does everyone in Nevarra learn to fight?"

"They don't," said Dmitri promptly, then relented at Cullen's glare. "It's true. Not everyone has the desire to learn, and it isn't mandatory. But all those who wish to, can. Many wish to."

"But why? Is there some threat against you? Maybe the Inquisition can help," said Cullen.

Dmitri's teeth flashed white as he laughed. "Very good, Cullen. Your ambassador would be most pleased with you. But no, there is no threat. It's simply tradition," he said. "And it is a place where all men, and all women, are the same. This holds allure for both the powerful and the powerless." He looked around him. "Though some days it is difficult to tell which is which."

"So here, I'm equal in rank to you?" asked Cullen.

"Well, you are a foreigner. That is somewhat more complex. But were you Nevarran, yes."

Cullen considered. "Second question," he said finally.

"I believe that we've reached a round dozen, but I will allow it, if it's interesting enough," said Dmitri.

Cullen swung his hand in front of him in a series of wiggles. "What is this gesture after a match? When is it used? Is it a mark of respect? I've received it, but I've never known what it means. I don't want to give offense by not showing respect where it's due, especially when I lose." Which was often.

The prince's eyes sparkled. "Definitely an interesting question. I will answer. Tell me, have you ever been into the annex off of the courtyard?" he asked, gesturing towards a set of double doors in the far wall.

"No. I've seen people go in there after sparring and assumed it was for cleaning. I prefer to wash in my own room," said Cullen.

"Ah yes, that Fereldan modesty. Famous, and likely becoming more so each day. No. While those rooms will get you clean, eventually, they are for more… pleasurable activities."

Cullen stared at him blankly, then reddened. "People have sex in there? All together?"

"There are separate rooms. It's not quite that lascivious," said Dmitri. "But after such intense physical focus, it's sometimes necessary to release tension in a different way. The rooms allow for it to happen with modesty. It's very standard, in the larger training areas."

Cullen put a hand to his forehead and tried to follow. "So that hand signal, it's some kind of request?" he asked.

"More an invitation, but largely yes."

"But I've gotten it dozens of times!" said Cullen. He thought back over the last few days, the women and men who'd looked slightly disappointed when he'd done nothing but bow. He'd thought they were disappointed in his lack of manners. Not his lack of… well, lack.

Dmitri's shoulders were shaking with the effort not to laugh. He swallowed hard and got himself under control. "I imagine you have. I also imagine there is quite a large pool among the regulars as to whom will be the favored first."

"None of them! Maker's breath," said Cullen. He looked at the other man in rising horror. "Or is that considered rude."

"It's tempting to tell you yes, but no. Not everyone indulges in that way. It's not expected," said Dmitri.

Cullen was relieved, but another memory was already vying for his attention. "That woman gave you the signal, too," he said, waving his hand around again vaguely. "You're the Grand Prince. Is that allowed?"

"First, you may wish to cease doing that, lest the room think you are propositioning me without a fight," said the prince. Cullen clenched his hands into fists and glanced around him quickly. Several heads turned away, but not before he saw their grins. "Second, of course it's allowed. As I said, we are all the same here. There are no borders to separate us. A wise ruler, or a wise wife, may consider it prudent to decline, but the offers may always be made."

"Married people can cheat on each other with this?" asked Cullen, horrified.

Dmitri sighed. "It is not cheating, as you term it. It is a release of physical energy, no different than exchanging blows. There would be no grounds for a divorce. And recriminations would be illegal."

"People don't get angry about it?"

"I did not say that. But, legally, it is merely what it is."

"It sounds like this system would be rife with abuses," said Cullen skeptically. "Pretend to want to fight when you really want to do the other."

The prince shot him an indecipherable look. "Yes, it is often used by those who wish to get around certain limitations, whether they are bound by circumstance or law," he said. He slung his dirty shirt over his shoulder and walked away. He called over his shoulder as he left, "Have a good day, Cullen. And watch your hand gestures!"

Cullen frowned after him, as always wondering what the man's game really was.

* * *

He certainly watched his hands carefully over the next few days, though he couldn't stop himself from blushing every time he ignored another's careful gesture. His eyes were also drawn more and more often to the double doors and what might lay beyond them. Now that he was paying attention, he did see that people seemed much more relaxed when they left than when they entered.

The knowledge spurred him to break Darren's silence, over his brother's strenuous protests, but strangely it brought them back together as nothing else could have. After Dmitri's matter-of-fact manner, Cullen had begun to wonder if he was the odd one, but Darren was equally flummoxed by the system. His eyes began to stray to the doors much as Cullen's did, and they didn't need to say a word to find themselves choking back laughter that threatened to howl out over the courtyard at every glance.

"Well, I suppose it's a hell of a lot easier than my way," said Darren, when they'd finally subsided into infrequent chuckles. At Cullen's raised eyebrow he added, "Buy them a couple of drinks and go in for the kiss."

"Elegant."

"Hey, it worked sometimes," said Darren. "Besides, like you had a better approach."

Cullen snorted. "I didn't have one at all."

"At all?" His brother's eyes were horrified. "No wonder you have such a stodgy reputation."

"I'm not stodgy. I'm dedicated."

"And traditional," muttered Darren, but it wasn't as angry as it could have been.

"No. Well, yes, for myself, but you're not me. I've spent far too much time in the world, in places where people barely had a chance to live before they died, to care about who they love while they can," said Cullen. "Especially when they're my family."

It was Darren's turn to snort. "Who said anything about love? Dorian's hot and interesting. I'm not looking for much more than that," he said. He laughed when Cullen's mouth dropped. "It shouldn't surprise me that you're more shocked when people aren't looking for eternal love than when they're going against traditional Ferelden values. But it does."

His brother looked back to the double doors and laughed again. "You know, this might be the only thing that could get Dorian into a fighting ring."

"Unless 'this' means a decent meal, I'm afraid you haven't found it," said Dorian behind them. "Nevarran cuisine is even worse than Orlesian. I'm wasting away."

Both Rutherfords stared at him as he flexed his still-prominent biceps. "See? They're practically vanished. But even when they're in form, they're for looking, not working." He shuddered delicately. "I'll save all of that uncultured swinging for the less refined."

Their stares narrowed, and the mage grinned. "I didn't say I didn't like you raw," he said. He plopped down between them on the bench. "So has there been a joyous family reunion? I certainly hope so. The sullen silence wasn't nearly so charming as the delicious squabbles."

Darren nodded. "We've reached an understanding," he said.

"Good," said Dorian. He reached up and brushed a finger down Darren's cheek, then kissed him softly. "I abhor arguments."

His brother's face was still a little uncertain as he looked back at Cullen, and that decided him. He stood and clapped his hands together. "Dorian. Go grab one of the weighted sticks from the rack."

Dorian leaned back and stared at him insolently. "Commander, as I said…"

"As you said nothing. Do it. That's an order," said Cullen.

Darren had already jumped up and retrieved his own gear, a smile playing around his lips. The Tevinter man was much slower in getting to his feet and scowled as he grabbed a weapon of his own. "You realize I have absolutely no skill at this," he said.

Cullen nearly laughed, but held his face straight with enormous effort. "I think you'll surprise yourself," he said. "One thing. When the match is finished, make sure you copy the Nevarran hand gesture he makes."

"A hand gesture? Is that important?"

"Oh yes," said Cullen. "It's vital."

* * *

At dinner one night, Cullen was almost on the verge of enjoying himself - the men flanking him were nominal commoners, army men, with conversation that he didn't have to break himself to understand - when the doors flung open and a new man strode in imperiously. He wore the robes of the Mortalitasi, but he was covered in more chains and ornamentation than the usual mage, so much so that it was a wonder he could walk without a hunchback. His hair was black to greying, and it came to a sharp widow's peak above a protruding brow. He clearly thought of himself as important, at the very least.

The mages dining with them thought so, too. They jumped to their feet and bowed before being waved back into their chairs. Dmitri was less enthusiastic, but also rose. "Lord Vestalus. I had no idea you were planning to visit Cumberland."

"I wasn't. But I was sent word there was a mage here of considerable skill that it would be worth my time to see," he said. His eyes traveled around the table until they lit on Solas, who looked unruffled. "Unlikely as it seemed, the offer was intriguing."

A thin smile crossed the stranger's lips. "And of course, it would be unpardonable to allow the opportunity to reconnect with one's family to slip past un-grasped. Welcome home, my dear."

"Uncle Vestalus," said Cassandra quietly. She sat straight and tall as always, beautiful in another gown Josephine had chosen for her, but Cullen suddenly itched for his sword. There was very little that frightened her, but it was clear she was terrified now. And he knew where he stood on that.

Secrecy and peace be damned. If this man tried to hurt her, Cullen would kill him himself.


	11. Princesses In Towers

"So, my little bird has flown home," said Vestalus, with a smug tone in his paper-thin voice that made Cullen growl deep in his own throat. The man paid him no attention. "Perhaps the gilding of the cage is more amenable when there is something more lining its interior."

"I'm here on behalf of the Inquisition," said Cassandra. Her voice trembled slightly, but she lifted her chin and squarely met his gaze.

The Mortalitasi smiled indulgently. "Yes. I had heard of your project. Strange you don't lead it yourself. Unless the Seekers chased some of your willfulness away."

"The Seekers merely showed me who I am."

"And now here you are. Princess again after all this time. I look forward to seeing how you've changed, my dear," said Vestalus. "Perhaps you'll indulge an old man in a talk after dinner."

Dmitri stepped forward smoothly. "Quite impossible, I'm afraid. Princess Pentaghast is otherwise engaged this evening," he said. "However, my steward will be more than pleased to find you accommodations for the duration of your brief visit."

The mage's smile fell away as if it had never existed. "Take care, little prince," said Vestalus. "King Markus is not unaware of your ambitions. A disgraced Pentaghast will not be enough to achieve them, but they may be enough to achieve a more permanent sort of glory."

Cassandra's eyes flashed fire as she stood. "Tell King Markus, or the vultures ringed around him while he dies, that they need fear nothing from me," she said. "However, if the Grand Prince is sacrificed to your paranoia, they will have much to fear from my Inquisition."

Jealousy sparked inside of Cullen at the gratified look on Dmitri's face, but it was lost in Vestalus's laughter. "At least your ferocity hasn't lessened. But your trained hounds are more bark than bite, I'm afraid." He finally looked at Cullen contemptuously. "They won't harm me."

"I would not ask them to," she said and a sharp ache flew across her face. She closed her eyes, and the shiver of magic ran through the room. Dorian only grunted in his seat, and Solas made no noise at all, but the Nevarran mages around the table all cried out in pain. Vestalus took the full force of the wave, and he screamed and clutched at his arm.

Almost before anyone could react the feeling was gone, and Cassandra opened her eyes once more. "The Seekers were very instructive, Uncle," she said. "And I am no longer your ward. Do not test me." She turned on her heel until she was facing Solas and narrowed her eyes. "Come with me, please."

The elf obeyed, and Cullen stared after her. She'd lit the lyrium in the man's blood on fire! And the rest of the table's, by the look of it. Dorian's face was thunderous as Darren subtly rubbed his shoulder to soothe him, though his brother clearly didn't know what was wrong. Cullen did, but he was no less perplexed. He tried to remember the last time she'd used her Seeker ability. Not since the war, at the very least. He knew she considered it a foolish weapon, much less worthy than her blade.

Maker, but she must have been angry.

Dmitri was busy offering obsequious concern to the furious Mortalitasi, so Cullen stood and slipped out behind his companions without another word.

* * *

He found them arguing in Cassandra's sitting room.

"How could you have invited him here?" she asked, pacing the length of the room with her ground-eating stride. It was hampered somewhat by her gown, but she barely seemed to notice. "He's dangerous. And powerful."

Solas slammed his hand against the back of a chair. "Precisely. He's in the upper ranks of the order, and he knows what I need to know. The mages here are all ignorant of what I need. They know pieces of the whole, but not enough to stitch together. Not in time. I'm running out of time, Seeker."

That stopped her movements, and she peered at Solas's face. "Is this true?"

"Yes."

Cassandra glanced at Cullen, and he nodded slowly. The elf was telling the truth, as far as he could tell. She folded her arms and sighed. "Did it have to be him?"

"He was the only one sure to come, with the inducement of you," said Solas.

"I seem to be baiting many traps these days," she muttered, and Cullen took an involuntary step towards her. She looked up and gave him a half-hearted smile. "I do not like to be helpless."

He grinned back. "That's one thing you'll never be," he said. "And I'm not just saying that because I still can't beat you in the ring."

The smile became more real, and his heart lightened as some of the worry smoothed from her face. She turned back to Solas with slightly less anger. "You realize Vestalus will never simply tell you what you want to know? You may be no better with him here than you were before."

"Well, my dear, you could always continue to torture him. But if you do, please make sure I can be safely in another room," said a drawling voice from the door. They all turned to see Dorian and Darren staring at them. Cullen winced at Solas's exasperated look. He hadn't shut the door behind him.

Darren took care of that, and both men plopped themselves onto a long couch against the wall. Dorian's pique wasn't all feigned, and Cassandra bit her lip. "I'm sorry for that," she said. "My control is not what it used to be. I have not practiced that ability in some time."

"Yes, I noticed you were less forceful," said Solas. Cullen stared at the elf, who shrugged. "Leliana wished to test my purpose when I returned to the Inquisition. She was satisfied. Eventually."

Cullen turned his stare to Cassandra. "You tortured him?"

Cassandra looked uncomfortable, but Solas waved it off. "It was necessary. This was not a complaint, merely an observation. Regardless, it's not an option here. The point is to learn what I need without it being obvious that I have learned it."

"And what do you need, Solas?" asked Dorian. When the elf stared pointedly at his companion on the couch, Dorian rolled his eyes. "He's trustworthy. And he's Cullen's brother. He's not stupid. We both know that there's more to this national flirtation than opening diplomatic relations. Not that I'm not enjoying our Nevarran vacation, but it would be nice to get to the point for once."

Solas glanced at Cullen, and he understood that there were still some things that even Dorian wasn't going to know. "I'm looking for an artifact of the ancient elves," he said. "For the Inquisition. Ellana requested it, and we are here to retrieve it."

"Fine. Where is it?"

"In the northern forest, but I don't know the exact location. Vestalus does, and he will tell me."

"Wonderful. How?"

"Through a much more reliable source than interrogation," said Solas. He looked in the corner of the room with a strange smile and beckoned, and suddenly a figure was perched on the side table.

Darren jumped and swore loudly. The rest of them just swore. Cole's pale face peered up at them worriedly from beneath his hat. "Hello," he said. "You don't have to forget anymore."

* * *

"He's really been with us the whole time?" asked Darren for the tenth time. "But I don't remember it?"

"Yes," said Dorian. He rubbed gentle circles on his back as they stood to leave. "You get used to it. Sort of. I'll explain in your room."

"You always say that, but you never get around to any explaining," complained Darren as they exited.

Cole still looked worried, though he'd taken a chair at least. He'd made the trip with them all the way from Lothering, His job had been to watch, and listen, and learn, and remember. Since their arrival in Cumberland, he'd also carried messages to the Temple Guardians, who'd arrayed themselves in the forest weeks ago in preparation for a search. All of Solas's hidden cards in this Wicked Grace game.

Cullen frowned. He hated Wicked Grace.

"He will be able to… read the location out of Vestalus's mind?" asked Cassandra doubtfully. "I thought he could only hear the pain of others, not their thoughts."

"All secrets are pain," said Cole, sounding surprised. "Sharp, sly edges, rocks in the shoes of the soul."

Solas nodded. "Trust me, Seeker. It will work. Cole has been very reliable, thus far."

Cullen shook his head even as Cassandra gave in. "I thought you were against using Cole like this. To… spy. As a tool."

Was there just a hint of shame in the elf's eyes? Impossible to tell, and Cole was already answering. "I'm helping the Inquisitor. Tools and spirits cannot choose, but I have chosen," he said happily, and Cullen left it be. Reluctantly. If Cole was happy, and it was helping Ellana, he supposed it wasn't his place to decide for him.

Cassandra snapped her fingers and made a flapping motion. "Out. I have to find Dmitri," she said, herding them towards her door.

"Why?" asked Cullen. He didn't even try to hide his irritation.

She placed a distracted hand on his arm and rubbed her thumb across it in soothing waves. "If I do not, he will come here. And Cole is an explanation that should wait."

"Oh," he said stupidly. It was a perfectly logical reason that he was incapable of taking in while she was doing that. He was acutely aware of how long it had been since he'd touched her, really touched her, and even more aware of how much he wanted to. She was draped in beautiful silk, and her skin was creamy and pale, and she still smelled of the soap he loved so much. It was easy to see his arm slipping around her waist and pulling her close. He would taste that mouth that looked sweet but was always sinful, taste other parts of her that would leave her begging for him, and bloody Dmitri could go hang.

Dmitri. Right. He would come looking any minute.

Cullen reached down and removed her hand gently, squeezing it before he gave it back to her. She turned to him, startled, then flushed a bright pink that only made her more delicious. He gave in and brushed his lips across her cheek, smiling as she held her breath. "Go find your prince," he whispered.

She slapped him lightly across the shoulder and led them out into the hall. She left them, muttering, and Cullen's eyes followed her as she went. As she turned the corner, he blinked tears out of his eyes. "Cole," he said, and the spirit appeared next to him on silent feet. "Is she happy here? Like this?"

Cole shifted from foot to foot. "I'm not supposed to share secrets between friends."

"Just tell me."

He closed his eyes. "Home could be happy, if she had a home. If she was just for herself. But who will want her?" he said. Cullen started to protest that he did, but Cole continued on, ruthlessly gentle. "A princess or a pawn. Bait or a bride. Cullen wants a warrior and a wife, but what if she is more?"

The spirit blinked as he looked up at his Commander. "What if she is a woman?"

* * *

Later that night, he wandered through the halls, staring at the portraits that lined the walls. They were of old royals and notable citizens, though he'd noticed that the Van Markhams were placed rather more prominently, and in better lit locations, than any Pentaghast ancestors. But he also noticed how many Mortalitasi had suddenly become notable citizens in the last decades, and how richly appointed they all were in their portraits.

Cullen dragged his fingers along the stone, wondering why he was so reluctant to rest. He shook his head, a little disgusted with himself. It wasn't much of a mystery. Cassandra was out here somewhere, and Cole's words were echoing through his head too loudly to ignore.

And then there were real words drifting through the air. He crept up to a set of open balcony doors where Cassandra and Dmitri were talking heatedly in the night air. Cullen settled in, a little guiltily, to watch and listen.

"You have to apologize to him," said Dmitri. "Your uncle is very upset."

"That was my purpose. I do not apologize where I feel no guilt."

"Andraste's flame, you've spent too much time with the Fereldan. No subtlety," said Dmitri, throwing his hands in the air. "Cassandra, it's dangerous for you to antagonize him."

"And dangerous for you," she said dryly.

He sighed. "Yes, and for me. Am I not allowed to be concerned for us both?" he asked. The prince took her hand and dropped his voice into pleading range. "The King is dying. He may already be dead. But the Mortalitasi say nothing, issuing proclamations and laws in his name that will doom us. The nobility is in terror of them. They hold the promise of the afterlife in their hands, and no one will risk the fight. Well, I will. I refuse to fear."

Cullen heard the sincerity in his voice, and the slight shake despite his words, and against his will he felt sympathy for the man. Meredith's face flashed in front of his mind, before she'd been turned to lyrium at the Gallows. No, it wasn't easy to stand against absolute power.

The prince continued earnestly. "But the fight will take time. They wield weapons that I cannot match. I won't be able to keep you safe if Vestalus chooses to take issue with you."

"I don't require protection."

"I'll give it all the same," said Dmitri. He stepped closer. "Have you considered my proposal?"

Cullen hissed, but they didn't seem to hear him. He prayed it wasn't the type of proposal he'd dreaded, but knew that it almost certainly was.

Cassandra confirmed it. "I cannot marry you, Dmitri. You know this."

"I know nothing of the sort," he said. He hadn't moved away, and neither did Cassandra step back. "This is the time for a change in our country. But I can't do it alone. I had no conception of how to proceed until word arrived from Ambassador Montilyet of your interest in marriage. Your interest," he laughed. "I knew it was a lie even before I left. Cassandra Pentaghast, the famed Seeker, seeking a noble marriage? Never."

His voice softened. "And you'd already turned me down before."

"We were children," she said.

"Who says children cannot know what they want? How old were you, when you joined the Seekers? How old was Cullen, when he joined your Templar Order?"

Cullen flinched at his name. This was too far. He shouldn't be hearing this at all. But he seemed frozen, stuck in place and doomed to know it all.

Cassandra's voice was hard. "We were all young. I am a Seeker no more, and Cullen has left the Templars behind. Children want, desperately, but they do not understand the consequences of their desires," she said. She pulled her hand away from the prince's and put it to his face. "This is a desire I cannot grant you."

"He is lucky, to mean so much to you," said Dmitri. He sighed and raised his hand to take hers once again. "But my hope still stands. You need not love me. The union of our names will be enough, and your influence more than enough, to rally the country to our cause. They don't trust the Mortalitasi, but they need someone to lead them. It must be us."

He turned his back to her and leaned against the railing. "Cullen seems to like Nevarra," he said. "He could stay. He has a gift for inspiration and would make a good general. He would do it if you asked him to, I'm sure." Dmitri's voice was strong, even with the defeat in his shoulders. "Isn't this why you formed your Inquisition? To fight against the excesses of power? To bring balance back to the world?"

She didn't answer him, and he pushed away with an irritated grunt. "Think about it. And apologize to your uncle."

Before Cullen could react, the prince stalked into the hall and collided against him in the darkness. Dmitri yelped and dropped into a fighting stance, then hardened when he saw who it was. "Talk to her," he said coldly. "She may listen to you."

* * *

When Cullen gathered enough courage to step outside, she was looking at the sky in thought. She didn't turn around, but she said, "How much did you hear?"

"Enough," he answered. "How did you know it was me?"

"Your smell is quite distinctive."

"Ah yes, the Fereldan smell of dog," he said, trying to laugh.

She turned, startled. "No. Leather and metal used by the Inquisition, and the cream you use in your hair."

Then he laughed in earnest. "I wasn't aware I had a smell," he said. He moved behind her and dared to put his arms around her waist. He reveled in the silk slipping along the pads of his fingers, though he kept them still and chaste. She leaned back against him and breathed in deeply. "I'm sorry I listened," he added.

"It is I who should apologize," she said. "I kept things from you. It seems I cannot stop doing so." She shifted in the circle of his arms, but he didn't let go. "Are you angry?"

"A little bit," he said. "But I'd rather be speaking to you and angry than silent and insecure."

"You have no reason for insecurity, Cullen."

"Another man has proposed a very attractive marriage to you," he said. He closed his eyes. "Come to think of it, the man is attractive as well."

She started to speak, but he overruled her. "It's not something to be tossed aside lightly. You know that as well as I do."

"Yes," she sighed. "Dmitri isn't wrong that there is much in Nevarra that needs to be addressed. My uncle has gained most of the power he wished, even without a royal ward to obtain it for him. And I've known since I was a child he should not have power. I know it even more now. I will not leave my country to his control, even if it hasn't been my country for some time."

Cullen's heart sank, and she must have heard a change in his breathing because she threaded her fingers through his own quickly. "But I reject that this must be done through marriage. The Inquisition is strong, and you have done much to bolster our reputation in only a few weeks."

"I have?"

She laughed, and he shivered at the feeling of it against his chest. "All I hear of is the handsome Commander who is noble on the field and off. They would follow you, if you led, for all you are Fereldan. Dmitri spoke truly."

His mind was traveling down other paths. The Inquisition in Nevarra. He leaned down and put his lips to her ear. "If Ellana dies…"

"I know," she said. The Inquisition would fall into chaos without its holy leader. Or, if not chaos, confusion enough to diminish them past usefulness to this country. She paused for a long minute, and he let her think. "What do you think I should do?"

It was his turn to consider, and he didn't rush to speech. That morning he would have told her he would invade in a heartbeat, that the path to help Nevarra ran solely through his sword. But Cole had warned him where her heart lay. Warrior and a wife, but what did the woman want? How could he choose for her when he wanted so badly? How could he not, with her on the line?

"I'm not sure I can tell you," he said eventually. "It's too difficult to see past my own wants."

"What you want matters in my choices, Cullen." She twisted around to face him, and he settled his hands more firmly on her hips. She was irresistibly solid against him, and he stopped trying to resist.

"Well, right now those wants tend to this gown on the floor of my room while I make you beg for me," he said. He put his lips to her ear again, brushing them with each word. His thumbs circled her hips, drawing closer to the core of her. "It's been far too long since I've heard that. I love the sounds you make when my mouth is on you. Is that want enough, Princess?"

She pushed him away and glared. "Stop it. We can't," she said. Her voice was strained, and her breath came a little more heavily than usual. "Don't tempt me. I could barely look at you after Highever. It has been just as long for me, as you're quite aware."

His eyes widened, and he shifted so he wasn't quite so flush against her. "That's why you were mad at me?"

"I was not mad. I was frustrated. I had never seen you spar in that fashion before. You use a surprising amount of your body when you fight, though you are still too protective of your left side. And you looked, well - it was very stimulating. Especially once you were sweating, and the sun was setting…"

She trailed off and shook her head. "Though if you fight in that manner here, please tighten your belt," she added, frowning. "You've lost weight, and your breeches rode so low as to be dangerous to everyone."

His unruly mind imagined her eyes skating down his torso, finding the lines she so often traced with her fingers and her tongue to send him into desperate need. His body was far too interested in making that a reality, so instead he laughed shakily. She narrowed her eyes. "It's not funny. I slept quite poorly."

"I won't pretend I'm not pleased," he said. "I don't want you to sleep well away from me."

She didn't reply, and he kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry. Beyond those immediate wants, what I want is for you to have a life that means something to you. Your passions have always been stronger than my own," he said. Cullen wrapped her tightly in his arms again. "And when I see the possibilities of my own futures, my only constant is you. You're what I want."

"I want you, too," she said, and pressed a feather-light kiss to his jaw. He closed his eyes against the bursting joy inside of him.

But there was still a mission. "Nothing needs to be decided tonight," he whispered. "Wait to see what Solas finds."

They broke apart reluctantly, and she smoothed away a tear on his cheek with the pad of her thumb. "Do you feel better?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. It sounded real. "Do you?"

"Better enough. For now," he said, thinking longingly of his lonely bed. "Do you want to tell me about your uncle?"

Cassandra looked out over the palace gardens, suddenly angry. "He sold my brother to the mages who killed him for his dragon hunter's blood. The ambush was Vestalus's design. Anthony died for coin, and to gain him a tractable royal pawn to advance his status," she said. Cullen stayed still as she ranged through her memories, though his mind had already come up with several new ways for Vestalus to feel pain. Her voice came from far away. "He always wanted more power, through us. My father was the Pentaghast. His own blood, my mother's, is diluted past usefulness. But he believed a woman would be more easily controlled. He planned to sell me as well, but for a very different purpose than my brother."

The shining onyx of her eyes gleamed dangerously. "He miscalculated. Badly. But obviously his lust for power has not abated." When she turned back, he saw regret and shame on her face. And he knew that she would welcome no comfort from him. "My family lacks in worth compared to yours, I'm afraid. Is there anything else you wish to know?"

"Yes," he said. He settled back against the railing with a severe look. "Did you really play tricks on Anthony with Dmitri? As a fellow beleaguered older brother, I feel very betrayed by that."

She chuckled, and he spent the rest of the evening learning about her misadventures in Cumberland until they were too exhausted to stay awake.


	12. Princes and Paupers

Cullen made it his mission over the next few days to go into Cumberland and gauge the mood of the city. He'd spent time walking through the streets and alleys before - always with a shadow guard, he noticed, either his own men or the prince's - but he'd mostly been using his battlefield eyes. They found weak points, positions of strength, where the population would gather in an invasion. He'd given up trying to see any new place as anything but a potential war site long ago, and at this point he categorized his memories by assault positions. Lothering Palace, well-fortified against standard sieges, but vulnerable to swarming. Antiva City, too many boltholes for in-city fighting, and its water location difficult to starve out, but ideal for sabotage from within. Cumberland, fighters on every corner, but open and clean so mounted warfare would be an easy business.

So he was well-versed in the city's layout, but less so with its people. Beyond the overheard mutterings as he passed taverns, and one trip to the market where he'd, to his own irritation, purchased something for Cassandra, he'd interacted with very few outside of the palace. But if Dmitri was correct that the Mortalitasi were changing the power structure of the country, those with the least power always felt the pain first. And if Dmitri was lying to manipulate Cassandra into staying, well, that would be even better to know.

The trouble was, he wasn't certain where to begin. His looks marked him as a foreigner, but Cumberland was a port city so he at least could pretend to be no one special without much question. But how did you talk to people without talking about war? He wandered through public squares and parks, looking for any kind of opening.

His chance finally came when he found a group of people playing chess under an open rotunda, with tables already inset with the familiar grid. Cullen grinned. Business and pleasure.

While the players had some good-natured ribbing for the slow intellect of Fereldans, Cullen acquitted himself fairly well. There were a few peerless players, including a man who made his own moves so quickly that it seemed impossible he was strategizing at all until he was smiling in victory, but most were around his own skill level. Namely, they knew enough to win, but not enough to make anyone else afraid.

Cullen had settled on a persona of a hired sword for a merchant ship, and it surprised him how quickly the Nevarrans opened up to him. Cassandra was so private as to be blank slate, and Dmitri was the same problem in the opposite direction - a man of so many faces that none of them seemed true. But they were royalty and had grown up in danger. Nevarra was a prosperous country, as far as that went, and they'd never seen the Blight and hadn't fought a war with anyone but themselves in a century. The citizenry grumbled a little about the things all people grumbled about, but they had no fear of strangers. Cullen had always thought Nevarrans stayed in their country because they hated the rest of the world. It was a bit of a shock to learn that they did it because they were too content to leave.

However, they did talk about their own deaths more than any group of people he'd ever met that wasn't under siege. Each member seemed to know in exacting detail the funeral wishes of the others, and Cullen listened in fascination as they discussed incense and colors and seating orders of their relatives and friends in the stalls. The last seemed to be much debated, and clearly represented some kind of approval code that was more complicated than any of the Nightingale's ciphers.

When they asked about his own plans, he didn't have the heart to tell them he'd always just hoped he'd be recognizable after he fell to whatever enemy was faster than he could be. Instead he used it as an opportunity to steer the conversation. "In Ferelden, we're not encouraged to discuss these things," he said, ignoring all of the times his mother had emphasized who was to get her silver tea service after she was gone. "We don't have people like the Mortalitasi to keep us focused on our transition to the next world."

_Thank you for the lesson, Dmitri_ , Cullen thought as the people around him nodded in appreciation. But one man, the fast player, frowned. "If that's all they're doing," he said.

"Oh no, the conspiracy theories again," said the woman next to him, and much of the group laughed.

Cullen raised his eyebrows in question, which led to an intense and illuminating argument. Some, the skeptical man included, insisted that the Mortalitasi were demanding more and more deference and gifts for performing the death rites. The full service had always been reserved for the nobility, as no one wanted to go to the highest plane of the Veil without the opportunity to reach those heights in the next exchange of spirits, but even they were having trouble receiving their due. The rest said the mages were only being paid fairly for their services, and a man who wasn't prepared to pay for his death showed a lack of consideration for his own soul.

As they debated, he pulled the original man aside, a swarthy giant who probably did belong on a ship, and asked him if what he'd said was true. "Oh aye," he said. "My aunt in Nevarra City was called to the mausoleum she'd selected to be told she'd lose her place unless she repaid her fee. The greed hasn't reached here yet, but it's coming. The Mortalitasi live like kings and the kings will live like paupers. Mark my words."

"Surely Grand Prince Dmitri will never allow that in Cumberland," said Cullen.

The man spit on the ground. "He's a fine ruler, as rulers go, but no one stands against the death mages," he said. He leaned in to speak in low tones. "I've heard that they killed his brothers. It wasn't the Pentaghasts, like was said. But don't go repeating that. If they hear it on your lips, the Mortalitasi take you underground and kill you where your spirit can't find the Veil. Might not mind you, foreigner as you are, but no Nevarran deserves that."

He shuddered. "To be trapped here, alone, with no body to return to and no other plane to roam. It's a terrible fate. The prince won't risk it. He's bound for something better."

"Then what can be done to stop them, if what you say is true?"

"When the king is released from his mortal pain, the new ruler will put a stop to it. Kings are divine. Their souls are untouchable by the Mortalitasi. And it won't be long now, from what they say," he said. He raised a speculative eyebrow. "Could be a Queen, maybe. I heard there's one around. Pentaghast. Inquisition leader. You ever met up with the Inquisition?"

Cullen coughed. "A couple of times."

"They ride on dragons into battle, you know. And the leader, she's the spirit of Andraste finally reborn. When she looks at a man, she reads all his sins with a glance," said the man. Cullen smiled wryly. Maybe the man was just a dreamer.

"That would be a lot of reading in your case," said a woman from the group, which had finished their argument and was packing up. "Sorry you had to listen to us all yammer on."

"Not at all, I enjoyed it," said Cullen. "I've never been to Nevarra before."

"Well then, I hope you come back, sailor," she said, winking. Cullen blushed, which made her laugh.

"I'm sure he will," said a cultured voice behind them, and Cullen turned to see Dmitri in rough clothes, arms crossed and watching. Besides his voice, there was little royal about him. "Can I interest you in a drink, my friend?"

* * *

Dmitri seemed to be a regular in a nearby tavern, though his name in the place was Max. They greeted him eagerly but allowed him to take Cullen into a private, partitioned area without question and left them with a large bottle and a smile.

"They don't know who you are?" asked Cullen quietly once they were alone.

The prince shrugged. "Why should they? My face is not so distinctive, and it's seen only at a distance by most. Perhaps some suspect, but my people are loyal."

"For now. If the threat to your country is real, there might be money in the knowledge that Cumberland's ruler is in the city alone and unprotected. Loyalty can be bought."

"It is real," said Dmitri. "Surely your wanderings have shown you."

Cullen drummed his fingers on the table and took a drink. "They showed me rumors," he said. He leveled his gaze at the other man. "Did they really kill your family?"

Dmitri stiffened and looked away. "There's no proof. But yes," he said.

"How do you know?"

"From the very best information. Cassandra told me."

"What would Cassandra know about it?" asked Cullen warily.

Dmitri sighed and toyed with his glass. "When I was fourteen, two months before Anthony died, my brothers went out riding. To work their horses, they said, but it was really to meet two women in an outlying village who'd expressed an interest in a more intimate relationship. They were at the perfect age to believe without consideration, and on the road they were slaughtered." He said it matter-of-factly, like a man discussing an event so far in history that even the bards couldn't remember it, but his face belied his tone.

"I'm sorry," said Cullen.

"As was I," said Dmitri. "I named the women, which I'd learned from my usual pastime of spying on my siblings, and under questioning they claimed they'd been paid by the Pentaghasts to lure them to their deaths." He looked down at his hands, clenched into fists. "Cassandra and Anthony were visiting, and my parents wanted them executed. I helped them both escape into their uncle's care."

Cullen stared at him. "Why? If you thought they'd killed your own brothers?"

"They were never the accused. They were children," he said sharply. "My parents were grief-stricken and desired retaliation. They would have regretted their actions. But not more than I, because I loved Cassandra with all of my heart. I wished to marry her, as I'm sure you overheard."

Cullen reddened and mumbled acknowledgment. The prince smiled in a way that didn't meet his eyes. "That was obviously put to rest in the eyes of everyone, save myself, after the events. And while I don't regret the lives I saved, I did not understand what I was doing when I delivered them to Vestalus. Cassandra knew perhaps slightly more, but she always kept her own counsel very well, and she, too, saw there was no choice for them both."

High and bright laughter floated around the partition, and both men winced at the invasion. Nevarra was a place of joy, but there was no joy in this. Dmitri continued his story after a brief pause. "Anthony died. Cassandra's suspicions of Vestalus were complete, and she bolted for the Seekers. I still believed her family responsible, even if she personally was not, and when she ran to the Seekers instead of to me…" He laughed wryly. "I don't know what I expected. I was still mostly a child myself. But it was hard to let go of a world where I was not her place of safety. Where she would be with me every minute. I'd wanted it so deeply."

"I understand," said Cullen, then cleared his throat to rid himself of the emotion trapped inside it.

"I imagine you do. Better than you know, do I imagine," said Dmitri. "She'd run to the Seekers to escape, but also because they did seek the truth, and Cassandra burned for that more than anything. After she was joined to them, she used their resources to find out what she could. Vestalus's betrayal of Anthony, her own parents, and also of my brothers - all of it came to light. The Mortalitasi would rise, and he had cleared the path."

Dmitri's fingers gripped his tankard hard enough to be white. "She came to me several years ago, back into Nevarra. I knew she'd traveled here before, always in secret, but she'd never sought me out, and I was too slow to catch her when I tried. Those visits had awakened hard suspicions with me. I thought she must have been guilty after all, and perhaps was working against my family on behalf of the Pentaghasts once more."

Cullen's eyes widened. "You believed that of her?"

"No. But that was easier than admitting she didn't care to see me," said Dmitri. "But I failed to credit her enough. When she finally found me, she brought no weapons and simply begged to speak. I let her, because I could do nothing else, and she laid all she had learned in front of me. I wanted to doubt, but she left me no option." He smiled. "Cassandra is not easily denied, though she does not own that fact."

Dmitri's eyes ranged across the past. "I wish you could have seen her, Cullen. She was magnificent in her bearing, a glory a man rarely sees. I wasn't equal to her. Who could have been? I asked her again to marry me. To stay with me always," he said. He came back to the present and focused on Cullen's face. "She told me she was going to re-form the Inquisition, that mages would be controlled once more. That she would finally have the power to set things to rights here as well. She said she wished to choose the sword over the marriage bed for her justice.

"But she's a terrible liar, as I'm sure you know, and it didn't take much to learn the deeper truth. There was a man. One she'd met in Kirkwall, and one she wouldn't leave."

Cullen's heart squeezed painfully, happily, but Dmitri's face was a dangerous blank and he didn't dare show it. The prince had never seemed less affected in his manner. He'd never seemed more true. "It took little effort to discover who you were. It took even less to know that you didn't love her and never had," he said. "I wonder if you have any conception of how much I hated you. A man who had everything I wanted and appreciated none of it. But still she chose the hope of you over the reality of me."

Silence. Cullen didn't know what to say. An apology was churlish and false, but to be grateful was no better. At least Cullen's own jealousies had been of circumstance, not feeling. Not true feeling, at the least. There was no victory in causing pain. At last he settled on the truth. "I didn't appreciate it, not nearly soon enough."

Dmitri relaxed slightly. "No. And while I have endeavored to continue my hatred, it's difficult to ignore what she sees in you. The first night at the ball, when I saw you feared for her heart, I imagined I would charm her and make her mine. I'd hoped to injure you into rash action and show her how unworthy you are. You never broke. When you forced your invitation to Nevarra, I hoped again, and was again denied. Cassandra said you were honorable. She said you loved her more than the world itself. It seems she was right, and though I will not apologize to you for anything, I will admit at least that much."

Cullen let a little of his own anger slip, then. "But you asked her to marry you anyway."

"I did," said Dmitri. "I re-offered her the path that isn't the sword. I know she only pretended interest in marriage to gain access to Nevarra, for her delayed justice, but there need be no pretension. I admit I still hoped of her heart. But though I've set that aside, the path still remains, and you could walk it with her."

"If you're suggesting that I stay here as some kind of consort while she marries you, that's out of the question," said Cullen. And it was. His very soul rebelled against it.

The prince sighed. "You would be comfortable. You would be with her. She would be doing good in the world."

"Would you ask her to bear children for you?" asked Cullen. Only silence, and that was answer enough.

"All of those benefits exist where we already were," Cullen said. He stood and finished his drink. "Cassandra will choose what she will, for her own reasons, but if she chooses this, there's no place for me in it. Don't use me as a lure to make your offer more attractive."

He strode through the tavern and into the streets, trying desperately to hide how afraid he was. _Please, Solas_ , he thought. _Find a way to save Ellana. And me._

* * *

He should have known Dmitri wasn't finished.

By the time he made it back to the palace, with a few false turns along the way, the prince was already in the training courtyard. Cassandra was with him, sparring. Most of the other fighters had stopped to watch them. Even in the equality of the yard, some were still more equal than others.

Cullen circled lightly around the crowd, trying to stay out of their sightlines. They were sparring as Nevarrans did, which meant with sticks and little else. Dmitri's chest gleamed with sweat, and Cassandra wore a sleeveless tunic that clung to her powerful figure. Cullen fought to keep his mouth from watering, and he focused his attention on their weapons and their techniques. They were warriors, not people, and his arousal had no place here.

After awhile, it became easier to only watch the fight. Dmitri was stronger, but Cassandra was fast, and she danced out of the way of his attacks more than once. The prince growled frequently in frustration, and Cassandra used each moment of irritation to score a blow he wasn't expecting.

Eventually the prince's power and training won out, and he shoved her backwards with force. He hooked the stick around her legs, dumping her on her back. Cassandra cried out, in shock instead of pain, and the group around them gasped and then applauded as she stood. Dmitri asked her something, and she shook her head. They bowed formally, and Cullen held his breath, waiting for one or both to signal their willingness to extend the exertions into the annex. The prince was clearly focused on her, a hungry and desperate look underneath the regal face. And Cassandra was edgy, dancing from foot to foot in a way that was all-too familiar.

He supposed he had only himself to blame. He'd hardly been subtle in his own frustration over the last few days.

But neither gave the gesture he feared, and Cullen relaxed. Briefly. Until Dmitri's voice called out, "Commander Rutherford! Perhaps you would show us your own skill?"

The crowd parted to allow him through, but Cullen only glared at the prince. "My skill is far beneath yours, Grand Prince."

"Oh, not with me. I am in no shape to continue. But Princess Cassandra told me how much she's missed sparring with you," he said.

Cullen folded his arms. "I'm even farther beneath her skill."

Cassandra smiled then, and Cullen couldn't help himself from meeting her eyes. She wanted to fight him. She had energy to work off and frustrations to burn. Her uncle was still there, Solas was still at work, and they were waiting, waiting for something to happen. And Cullen couldn't deny her anything that she truly wanted. Not when it cost so little to give.

"Very well," he said, walking forward. Dmitri offered him his weapon, but he waved it away. "Armor, Cassandra. If we fight, we fight as the Inquisition."

Dmitri smiled and turned away, and Cullen and Cassandra both selected practice gear and weapons. When he walked behind her to fasten her breastplate, he whispered, "Don't go easy on me."

She laughed and returned the favor with practiced fingers. "But it is unkind to embarrass a guest."

He growled at her playfully, and she answered with her own smirk. When they settled into the ring, facing each other with swords and shields as they'd done so many times, it was like being home. Even in the battle blankness that settled over her features, he saw buried happiness. He didn't even try to hide his smile.

Dmitri gave the signal, and they warred. After so many weeks alternating between the new sticks and his usual weapons with unfamiliar opponents, it was a relief to finally let go and be in a moment he understood. He took advantage of her exhaustion from the earlier bout and struck early, judging correctly that she'd take some time to adjust back to the weight of the armor. She fell away but was still quick enough to dodge, and most of his blows glanced harmlessly off her shield. After several assaults he stepped back carefully, circling.

She went on the offensive, then, despite her heavy breathing, and he noticed with amusement she went after his left side. She always was trying to teach him lessons, even when she was supposed to be winning. He let her, protecting it even more than usual, allowing a weakness to become more weak and the exasperation to show in her eyes until he broke away unexpectedly and struck savagely across her side. He took care to hit her armor, and not any joins in it. The crowd around them shouted and groaned, depending on the leanings of the bettors.

"One for you," she said, panting, and they both stepped back to start again. He couldn't resist a triumphant smile, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. His grin only widened, and he cocked his head and beckoned her with the index finger of his sword hand.

Cassandra moved, water in the air, but with a decided thump of her shield that didn't feel at all liquid. Cullen staggered and ducked as she pivoted to follow, and he lost his balance briefly. Before he could recover, she'd snaked her sword under his guard to score a hit of her own.

"One for me." There was laughter in her voice, and he shrugged at the answering laughter around them.

They continued awhile longer, dodging and feinting, making the crowd around them gasp with their speed. Only when the sweat was dripping into his eyes and her own steps were that hairsbreadth slower that said she was losing focus did he hold up his hand to end their match. She'd ended up in points, as usual, and he likely could have scored off of her exhaustion, but their bouts weren't meant to be grueling in that way. Not to the end of endurance.

Usually she would have agreed easily - Cassandra trusted him to find her limits, as she never admitted to having any at all - and she did stop, but there was anger in her lines. He felt it himself. Just because their bodies couldn't handle more didn't mean that their minds were finished with their frustration, but he wouldn't endanger either of them to satisfy it.

She stepped back and dropped her sword, ready to bow to end their sparring, and Cullen saw Dmitri looking at him intently. A message on his face, something Cullen was supposed to understand, and he didn't at all.

Until he did. The thought burst across his mind like a firework, terrible and bright and forbidden. But once it lived it wouldn't die, and Cullen wasn't strong enough to resist.

"Wait," he said, voice cracking from dehydration. She raised her eyebrow in question, and he tried to keep his voice light. "Now that we're exhausted, I want to try the sticks. We'll only bruise each other, at least."

Cassandra nodded slow agreement and turned back to the crowd, where Dmitri handed her a weapon and a flask of water. Cullen grabbed the same from a helpful bystander with a grunt of thanks. He removed his armor quickly with shaking fingers, then closed his eyes and breathed as he stripped his own shirt off once again.

When he turned around, Cassandra was staring at him with wide eyes. Cullen didn't smile at her, not even an inch, and his gaze never wavered until her own stare wandered down his form. He followed the same trail, and he finally did smile when he reached the line of his breeches. He'd never tightened his belt, and they were riding as low as they ever had. Low enough to reveal an expanse of hard muscle and the light trail of his hair before it vanished. Low enough that he knew exactly what she was seeing with her mind's eye.

And it was just what he wanted her to see. He took another swallow of water and handed it behind him without looking. The crowd murmured, and he heard them, but the sound was muted and distant. There was only Cassandra, and her dark, darkening, darkest eyes that burned across his flesh. She shrugged out of her armor as well, and her sweat-dampened shirt clung to her even more tightly than it already had. He stepped forward with his weapon in guard position, but he wasn't looking at the set of her feet when she did the same.

"Fight me," he whispered, and she obliged.

It wasn't much of a match from a skill perspective, he imagined, but the strength of his arms fended off most of her blows. Her speed was more easily diminished with tiredness than his strength, of course, but she also wasn't trying. Well, not trying to win. She was trying to force him into close combat, to make him use his body against her while she watched hungrily. And after ten minutes of brutal, agonizing, tempting moves, she finally hooked his legs and felled him, dropping him directly on his back.

His arousal had returned long ago, pounding through his veins and his heart while she slid around him. When she stood over him in grave triumph, he begged her with his eyes, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. Cullen rolled to his feet and faced her, bowing the polite distance as the vanquished opponent. He'd barely straightened when her hand was moving beautifully, as complicated of a dance with her fingers as they'd just performed with their feet. He answered quickly and before the crowd could settle another bet, she dragged him away to the mythical double doors that held their prize.


	13. Secret Doors

Cullen realized too late that he had no idea what lay behind the doors, but it didn't matter as Cassandra once again knew exactly where she was going. They arrived in a long hallway that split at the end and was lined with thick doors on each side. Her eyes flicked to colored signs that framed each one as he followed her, his own eyes straying from the walls to the sway of her hips as she walked. Eventually she settled on one that looked no different from the rest, but she seemed certain. He was just starting to wonder how she knew so much about this place when she pulled the door open with force.

He followed her again, closing the door behind him. His inventory of the room - a low bed, a side table, and a cabinet with unknown contents - was pleasurably interrupted when she pinned him against the door and kissed him with a fire that scattered any other thoughts away.

The wood was cool on his fevered back as he grabbed at her roughly. She was so warm, slick and sweaty under his palms, and his hands dipped below the waistband of her pants to cradle her ass while he ground himself against her. Maker he was hard, so ready to bury himself inside her, and they'd only just begun. Her mouth was greedy on his, all sliding tongue and panting breath as she tried to pour herself into him.

He groaned when she abandoned her questing of his mouth to range down his neck, licking and biting until he was shaking on his feet. "Cassandra," he whispered, releasing his grip to give her better access to his jaw, his shoulder, his chest. He tugged on the hem of her shirt instead, and she lifted her arms to aid him even while she continued to taste and bruise his skin. "Oh sweetheart, how I've missed you."

She bit into the join of his shoulder hard enough to make him gasp and ran her hand across the front of his trousers. He closed his eyes and leaned back, fighting desperately to control himself as she confirmed exactly how much she'd been missed. She relented when he let out a strangled cry, and she pressed her hips against his once more. Her lips traveled back up his neck to ghost across his ear. "You're so eager. Have you not been caring for yourself, my husband?"

Cullen growled and grabbed her around the waist, flipping their positions so quickly she couldn't react. She hissed in a breath as he slammed her against the door, though he put a protective hand behind her head even in his haze. He pressed a leg in between her own to keep her still. "We released each other," he said before claiming her mouth once again.

She rode the hard muscle of his thigh while he plundered her mouth, and when he broke for air she ran a hand down his back. "You released me," she said stubbornly, still moving against him with shuddery waves. "I was not so foolish as to let you go."

He snarled, but she silenced him with another roll of her hips. He rested his head on the door beside her, letting her use him as she would while his fingers traced what skin he could find. "You did not answer my question," she said.

What had she asked him? His thoughts were heavy and slow, but eventually he remembered and smiled where she couldn't see. "Not enough," he said. At Skyhold he'd been too numb, and traveling tents were no place for such self-care. Only a few stolen moments in palaces, dreaming of her in her Lothering gown, dragging it up over her hips while she clutched at him. Taking her swiftly and quietly while the rest of the world danced obliviously around them…

"Did you?" he asked, slipping his free hand forward to cup her breast. Her nipple hardened immediately, and her head tilted back as he toyed with it. He took the opportunity to plant open-mouth kisses down her neck, wringing even more pleasure out of her.

"Yes," she said. "So often… every night since we've arrived. Always thinking of your hands, your mouth, your…"

He smiled when she trailed off, and he whispered in her ear once more. "Especially that, I hope." His length was pressed against her hip so tightly she could have no doubt of what he meant.

She nodded vigorously and turned to kiss him once more with undisguised passion. By the sounds she was making she was getting close, and he pulled himself away from her before she found a release that he wanted to drag out of her in another way. She struggled against the loss of contact, but he stilled her with a look and yanked her breeches down in one swift movement. When he ran a finger over her smallclothes they were wet and soaked, and he smirked at her whimper. "Obviously it wasn't enough," he said.

"No," she whispered. "Only you are."

Oh sweet Maker. "Get on the bed," he said roughly.

She complied quickly, stepping out of her puddled pants with the grace that only Cassandra had. Her legs were long and toned, beautiful marble when she sat on the edge of the bed. When he glanced down at her hips she understood and wiggled out of her smalls with a knowing half-smile. She dragged a finger along her slit as she leaned back, and he drew in a deep breath.

His cock was straining against his pants but he knelt down in front of her instead. One kiss to her breast, then one to the other, then a final one pressed in the valley between them. He looked up at her face, eager and flushed, and there was no humor in him when he said, "I'm going to make you beg for me."

He wasted no time in working his lips down her, kissing her as she fell back against the bed. When he reached her hips he paused, kissing the inner flesh of one thigh and then the other, smelling the familiar scent of her arousal until she swore at him. He laughed against her skin. "So impatient."

But he was no less, and his tongue slipped over her easily. She jerked when he found her entrance, even more when he lapped up against the place that was the true center of her pleasure. There he took his time, lavishing his attentions before dipping back to taste her once more. Her moans were coming quicker and louder, and her hand found his hair to hold him in place. "Don't stop," she commanded, and he smiled and went after her in earnest. He tilted his head just right and sucked and licked until she screamed her release, clenching and spasming around him.

Cullen waited for her to subside, rubbing a soothing hand along her thigh and kissing the other one tenderly as it trembled. When her breath was just starting to return, right before she was drawing in another to speak, he locked his mouth back onto her sensitive skin.

It brought exactly the reaction he was hoping for. Her back arched up off the bed as she gasped, and he chased her hips as they moved, digging his fingers deep into them to draw her back to him.

"Cullen," she said desperately, accusingly, as soon as she could breathe, and he let her go for a brief minute to look at her face. Her expression was torn between outrage and lust, her eyes wild, pupils blowing them even darker than they usually were.

He looked at her meaningfully. "You didn't beg," he said, and a stubborn, utterly Cassandra look fell across her expression. She would fight him, but this was a bout he would win.

When he went back to his task this time his fingers joined. He crooked two of them inside her lazily, sweetly, moving them in quiet rhythm while his mouth worked. He held her on the edge, using the moans he knew so well to pull back at the exact moment she was chasing another peak. Each rise and fall was a little steeper, a little harder to travel, and eventually she was cursing him for his teasing.

"You know what I want," he said implacably when he backed away, fingers still inside of her. He pressed a third to her entrance, and she thrust against it needfully until he curled it back once more.

"Please," she said then. "Please."

He looked up at her beautiful face, her eyes closed in want. "Please what?"

"Please make me come," she said. "For you. Just you. Forever. Please let me. I love you so much."

He groaned and obliged. His fingers slid faster, his tongue danced across her, and her second scream was mingled with his own low cry of love. He crawled up onto the bed as she shuddered, shedding his pants with an impatient hand.

When she finally came back to herself, it was in his arms, with his face pressed against her neck. She heaved in shaking breaths and clung to him. After she'd regained some semblance of control, he leaned back to look at her face. Her eyes were bright with emotions too deep to speak, and he didn't ask her to.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, as tenderly as he could given the desperation of his own need.

"Always," she said. "Take me, my love."

He didn't hesitate, propping himself over her and pushing forward in one swift stroke. She cried out, but it was joy and not pain so he held himself in place and breathed. She'd never felt so warm or inviting, and a small part of him thought that it was almost worth the long drought, almost worth all of the lonely nights, to feel her this intensely once more.

Maybe too intensely. He felt himself losing control. "Cassandra," he said urgently. "I need… I want…"

She understood. Somehow, when they were like this, she always knew what he was looking for and gave it to him unfailingly. "Cullen," she said, silky voice like trailing fingers across his flesh. "Harder. Please." And it wasn't begging now, though she made it sound like it. It wasn't permission, though she'd given it. It was command, telling him that his wants were her orders, and that was when his mind vanished into the twanging nerves sheathed between her thighs. The rest was images and smells, feelings and sounds that had no order but were beautiful in their chaos.

He pulled out and drove back into her with frightening strength. She met him, again and again, and he was gripping her shoulders and pulling, and she had her hands over her head to steady against the wall, absorbing the force of his movements. Her soap was there, and the sweat of them both, raw and animal. He heard moans and pleas and realized they were his. He was the one begging now, for more, for her, for everything he'd only had in dreams for far too long.

The tight heat of her around him. The way she arched and twisted while he moved. The leg he'd taken over his shoulder to give him access to deeper and more secret places inside of her. And the explosion, the magic behind the eyes and under the skin that could never exist without her.

When he blinked the room back into his vision, she was staring at him with a solemn beauty that took his breath away all over again. He collapsed over her and let her hold him, touching in every place they could possibly connect. His lips sought hers and they kissed like lovers who'd just come home. He tried to get closer, to put all he was into her and take her back in return. Two becoming one. Married in the soul.

Eventually they had to breathe, and he realized how tightly he was still holding her. He pushed himself up on his elbow, releasing her shoulder. He winced when he saw the white marks of his fingers and the promise of bruises. And he paled at the aching look she couldn't hide when he slipped out of her.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, ashamed.

"A little," she said. She was always honest. "But it was an enjoyable pain."

She rolled her shoulders experimentally and rose up to him once more. But this kiss was comfort, something outside of them both, and he felt the acceptance she wanted him to have. Peace threaded through his shame until there was nothing left of it but memory.

They lay in silence for a time, until she said reluctantly, "There will be water outside for washing."

He kissed her swiftly once more, then rose to follow the unspoken command. He pulled his breeches back on and opened the door to find the promised water, as well as his folded shirt. He took the last with a scowl, and when he turned back Cassandra was sitting up and watching him. Her hair was tousled and wild, and she was still completely bare. "If only I were fifteen years younger…" he said longingly.

"I prefer an experienced, talented man," she said.

"Oh really? Who is he?"

She shook her head with an exasperated expression that was only partially faked, and he laughed lightly. "Come here, sweetheart. Let's get clean."

There were rags for cleaning and a basin to catch the water, and they spent an enjoyable time washing the grime and sweat from each other. Cullen definitely wasn't fifteen years younger, and he was more than spent, but that didn't mean he couldn't relish his hands sliding over her smoothness just a little while longer. She did the same, trailing kisses behind them on his newly clean skin, and he relaxed into the love in them. Cassandra also delighted in running her hands through his hair, which soothed him almost to the point of insensibility.

After awhile he pulled away. "You'll put me to sleep, and I assume these rooms aren't meant for overnight stays."

"No," she said. "We are reaching the upper limit of propriety, actually. Generally this is a quick experience."

"Nothing about it is quick when I'm involved," he said haughtily, and she smacked his arm before finding her clothes. His arrogance changed to speculation. "How do you know so much about these rooms? You were a child when you left."

"They are discussed quite openly in society. And I've been back to Nevarra before. There are training halls in many places, and I like to train," she said. "And of course, when we were children, we often dared one another to sneak into them. We probably spent more time in the back halls than the fighters themselves, in the end." She looked back at him suddenly, expression wary. "Though I've only been back to Nevarra alone once since I met you."

"And did you find the back halls with Dmitri?" he asked. He hated himself for asking, but she would hate him more for harboring secret fears.

She shook her head. "No," she said. "It would not have been fair. I loved another," she added with a small smile.

Another piece of his heart cleared and set free. "He told me that you turned down a proposal on that trip. For me. Before I even knew I could love you this much," he said. "Do you regret it?"

"Never," she said. "And I did not turn him down for you, no matter what he may believe. You were a piece of the whole, and you were always important, but I wanted the Inquisition. I wanted to serve the Divine. I wanted to build something, not stand beside someone as they built it for me. I wished to be Cassandra, not a Pentaghast."

Cullen nodded his understanding. "You know he tempted us into this on purpose," he said. "I think he's trying to show me what a life with you as his Queen might offer."

"And?" Her tone was curiosity, not challenge.

"This was wonderful," he said "And empty. Giving myself to you only in hidden rooms after the dozens of eyes were on us both won't last. It might be enough, I suppose, if I didn't know what it was like to wake up with you every morning. But I do. This can't even come close."

She sighed. "Yes," she said. She crossed the room again, fully clothed but still as alluring as she'd ever been, and kissed him once more. He wound his arms around her and closed his eyes. When she pulled away, she added, "Nevertheless, it was quite wonderful."

* * *

The memory of them sustained him over the next few days, though he didn't like the smug look in Dmitri's eyes. The prince clearly thought he'd won a battle, and perhaps he had, but he didn't understand the overall lay of the campaign. He was no general, for all he fought so well. Putting an enemy into position was worthless unless one's own position was secure.

Cullen knew, as Dmitri never would, that no position was ever truly secure. And Cassandra was the Arbor Wilds, where the battlefield itself was more dangerous than the fight.

He was recalling their more pleasurable moments before he drifted to sleep when a knock came at the door. He tried to quiet his rising heart to no avail, and he was disappointed when he opened it on Solas's unsmiling face. But when the elf said, "It's time," a different sort of hope appeared. Cullen took in the strange, rough clothes he was wearing, dark in color and loose around him. Only his unshod feet and the wolf's tooth remained from his typical attire. He was dressed for travel.

"You've learned something?"

"Yes. We must go now. Cole is gathering the horses outside the gates."

Cullen stared. "Now? In the middle of the night?" he asked. Suspicion bloomed. "Is Cassandra coming?"

"The primary diplomat cannot sneak out of the palace in the middle of the night to steal an artifact from the Nevarran forest," said Solas patiently. "She knew that we might leave without warning."

"But they'll see that we're missing. Vestalus will see. She might be in danger if they suspect us of exactly what we're doing. Or worse."

"She knew that as well." The elf breathed out slowly. "She is well-protected, Commander. And I need you to come with me. You told Ellana you wished to help."

He did. He would. But to leave her, now… Cullen sighed. "Ten minutes. For me to say goodbye to her. Please."

The violet in Solas's eyes flashed into something darker, but he nodded. "Ten minutes. Don't be late."

* * *

Cassandra wasn't in her room.

Cullen knocked on the door fruitlessly, trying to think where she might have gone. _Dmitri's room_ , a traitorous part of his mind whispered, but he shook that away. She wasn't there. Perhaps a balcony, for the night air, the kitchens, or even in the training yard fighting against a still dummy. But there wasn't time to search them all.

And then there wasn't time to search even one after he ran into Darren and Dorian going around a corner. The mage raised his eyebrows. "In a hurry, Commander?"

"I'm looking for Cassandra," he said. "Have you seen her?"

Dorian shook his head, but Darren was looking him up and down appraisingly. "Going somewhere?"

Cullen wore his own travel clothes, rough and comfortable, and his mind stuttered on the unexpected question. "Just taking a walk," he said, lamely, and both men raised skeptical eyebrows.

"Did the spirit learn what he needed?" asked Darren.

Dorian perked up when Cullen nodded. "We should get going, then," said the mage.

"No," said Cullen quickly. "Just Solas and I. We can't all leave. It will put Cassandra in a bad position."

"Commander, I'm disappointed in our lack of intimacy after these long years. You must know I would never allow you to go off and have all the fun without me," said Dorian.

Darren frowned and placed his hand on Dorian's arm. "Don't be stupid. It might be dangerous. You shouldn't go," he said. "But I will. Whatever this is, Cullen, you can't walk into it alone. You'll need another sword."

Cullen and Dorian both protested, but the mage was the one who captured Darren's attention. "I realize our own intimacy has only just begun," he said, stepping closer to his lover. "So I will forgive you for not knowing that I find danger delightful. Almost as delightful as I find you."

Dorian slid his hand around Darren's neck, and Darren narrowed his eyes. "That's not fair," he said, even as his own hands settled on the mage's hips.

"I must admit I've never been known for playing fairly. It so often leads to losing."

"I don't want you to get hurt," said Darren.

Dorian smiled. "I won't. But more to the point, this is my cause, not yours," he said. He kissed Darren tenderly, and Cullen glanced away from the raw, vulnerable look on his brother's face when they broke apart. Dorian breathed a little more deeply, but his voice was steady. "You shouldn't risk yourself for it. I will go, and you will remain."

"No," said Darren, shaking his head in familiar mulishness. The Rutherfords had never been known to be compliant. Though they were known to take too many blows on themselves. "If you go, I go. I won't risk myself for your cause, but I will protect you."

"Darren," began Dorian, but the soldier silenced him with another kiss.

"Don't argue," he whispered. "You're not careful enough. You need me."

The mage smiled. "I suppose I do at that." He turned back to Cullen. "Well, Commander, it seems you have two new recruits. Shall we meet you at the gates?"

When Cullen shook his head, Dorian lost some of his playfulness. "You don't have time to fight with us. And short of beating us senseless, you have no way to stop us. Whatever this is, better to have too many instead of too few," he said. "We'll meet you there."

The two men headed to their rooms to change, but Cullen grabbed Darren's arm as he passed. "You know, I could order you not to come. You're still under my command."

"You don't trust me?" asked Darren.

"Of course I trust you. You're my brother. But someone needs to be here for Cassandra."

Darren laughed lightly. "Cassandra is here for herself. And her maid is deadly. More importantly, the prince might kill you, but he'd never allow her to be harmed."

"You think Dmitri would kill me?" asked Cullen incredulously.

His brother shrugged. "Let's just say it wasn't your lieutenant's idea to have someone follow you when you wandered Cumberland. It would have been easy for you to have an accident," he said. "You're too trusting. It makes your men love you, and it makes you popular, but it leaves you vulnerable to those without scruples. Dmitri is a man who knows what he wants, and what he really wants is for you to stop existing."

"Perhaps, but there's a long way from that to murder," said Cullen, relaxing. He couldn't say he'd never had the same thought himself about Dmitri. Cullen could hardly blame him.

"It's not as far as you think," said Darren. "For me, I think you'd already be dead if he could figure out a way to do it without Cassandra knowing who was to blame. Which is another reason I'm coming along. You might be stodgy and humorless, but you're still my brother. And I don't trust any of them."

Cullen released his Darren's arm and shook his head. "When did you become a cynic? The Nevarrans all seem amiable enough."

Darren shifted uncomfortably. "Not them. The Inquisition. There's more going on than you know," he said. "At least, that's what I think. And Cassandra is the only one of them I'd leave you alone with when it mattered."

"You don't even trust Dorian?" asked Cullen, with a lame attempt at a smile.

No answering smile. "Oh, I'd trust him not to kill you," said Darren. "But there are other kinds of betrayals, and there I wouldn't trust him, with you, at all."

* * *

In the end, Cullen never found Cassandra, and Solas's face was thunderous when Dorian and Darren showed up right behind him. Cole silently went to gather their mounts as the elf held a whispered argument with Dorian. It didn't last long, and by the end the Tevinter man was smug and Solas resigned.

They all mounted quietly and rode off into the night, likely seen by some, but no one stopped them. When they were a sufficient distance from the palace and up into the plains, Cullen finally spoke. "Okay, Solas, what are we going after? We have to know something."

"There's a temple," he said. "In it, we'll find what I need."

"Which is?" asked Dorian. The elf glared at him, but he was unperturbed. "You admitted you needed me. Anything of the elves is magical, at least anything powerful enough to be worth having. It's time to tell me what I need to know."

"Very well," said Solas, grinding out the words. "It's a necklace. A talisman that will allow Ellana to hold the ancient power she carries safely."

Dorian's eyes narrowed. "You mean she's not carrying it safely now?"

"Not as much as it seems."

"I see," said Dorian. "And this necklace is sitting in a temple in the woods, and no one has ever found it. Or tried to retrieve it."

"I'm sure they have," said Solas. "But none have survived."

Darren snorted. "Wonderful," he said. "I always did like impossible odds."

They fell into silence again, each following their own internal paths. Cole rode up beside Cullen and placed a hand on his arm. "Cassandra will be okay," he said.

"I didn't get to see her," he whispered.

"She watched from the balcony. Five riders in the night. The fingers on a hand, reaching out to grasp the salvation of Thedas. She is proud. And she will love you until the sun burns itself to ashes in the sky," said Cole in faraway tones. He came back to earth with a frown. "She especially loves your tongue. But not because of talking. I don't understand that part."

Cullen felt his cheeks flame as Dorian choked back a laugh. The five fingers rode out under the cover of darkness, with Cole still asking what was so lovely about a tongue.


	14. Into the Woods

Dawn was on them by the time they made it to the temple. It rested in a valley, half-buried by time but not hidden, and Dorian muttered when they saw it. "This wouldn't have escaped notice so completely. You can feel the thinness of the Veil from miles away. The Mortalitasi would have found it."

"They did find it. Vestalus knew its location well," said Solas. "But they've yet to penetrate its mysteries."

"This might be an obvious question, but if they haven't, how will we?" asked Darren.

Solas swung off of his horse. "I have knowledge that they don't."

And, it became clear, knowledge that the rest of them didn't as well. When they made it to the entrance, Abelas was waiting with four guardians from the Temple of Mythal. He bowed deeply, and Cullen frowned. He'd only met the man once, when they'd returned after the war to secure the Temple from other incursions, but the elf hadn't struck him as submissive. But Solas had been leading them for some time, he reminded himself. They certainly looked to him for orders.

While the travelers donned their leather armor, the guardians explained that they'd subdued the outside threats, mostly local wildlife, but hadn't entered the temple proper. They had seen several human figures enter but had left them unmolested to avoid giving away their position. They had the stink of magic, according to Abelas, but none strong enough to cause concern.

"Mortalitasi," offered Dorian. "Still working on the temple. They'll be difficult to kill permanently, if they've mastered the art of animating corpses."

"Let's hope they haven't," said Solas, but Cullen was already shaking his head.

"We can't kill Nevarran citizens in the middle of a diplomatic mission," he said. "Even if they're in our way."

Solas folded his arms. "Commander, there is no diplomatic mission. There is only this mission. And Ellana placed me in charge," he said. "You do remember how to take orders?"

Cullen drew himself up to his full height and glared down at the elf. Abelas, he noticed, was watching him intensely, and Cullen worked his hand to the hilt of his sword while he spoke. "I'll defer to you in many things, but everything will go more smoothly if you don't pretend you're a military expert," he said. "I'll make the tactical choices. We kill if we must, but we aren't walking in there prepared for a wholesale slaughter. We won't survive it, for one, and for another, they've done nothing wrong." _And it will endanger Cassandra even more,_ he thought.

"They've done a great many things wrong," said Solas. "They are invading a place they have no right to touch, profaning it with human greed, attempting to take things that are not theirs. Under the laws of the ancient elves, their punishment would be death."

Dorian said mildly, "Lucky for them those laws have fallen out of fashion, then."

"The Imperium made sure of that, yes."

"It doesn't matter," said Darren. "Once we're in there, they'll all try to kill us anyway." He turned to Cullen. "You might not want to kill them, but we'll probably have to."

Cullen sighed. "Fine. But at least allow for the possibility we won't."

"Fair," said Darren. "And I, for one, will be taking my military cues from you. No matter who's in charge."

Dorian nodded in agreement while Cole looked solemnly between them all. Solas shifted and gave in. "Very well. Abelas, the Commander will decide our tactics."

"As you say," said the elf.

"Now that that's settled, let's meet our new hosts. Step one," said Dorian, "knock."

* * *

Knocking wasn't required, but fighting was, almost immediately. The doors opened into a large hall teeming with enormous spiders, and they were not at all inclined to welcome visitors. The guardians took up archery positions, the mages behind them, while Cullen, Darren and Cole closed for closer combat.

"How did the bloody Mortalitasi get past these without killing them all?" panted Darren as he hacked at another in an endless series of limbs.

An arrow sprouted from the body of the one Cullen had locked into combat, and he scrambled out of the way as it fell heavily. He finished it quickly and spun to a new target. "Stealth?" he offered before swinging again. A dagger in the ghostly hand of a boy struck out beside him as if to emphasize his point.

"Or they can turn into giant spiders themselves!" called Dorian as he settled another shield over them both.

"Fucking wonderful," said Darren. He took another overhead swing and cleaved a rearing enemy in two.

Eventually they ran out of eight-legged monsters to slay, and the three melee fighters cleaned themselves off as best they could. "If we have to fight a bunch of giant, magic spiders I'm blaming you for giving them the idea," said Darren, glaring daggers at Dorian. "You're lucky you're so gorgeous."

"And somehow, even covered in spider parts, so are you."

"Focus," said Cullen, and they both snapped back into readiness. Cullen assessed them all quickly. No major injuries, just a few bruises to Cole where he'd been stepped on, and the mages still looked fresh. He turned to Solas. "Where to now?"

There were dozens of doors in the place, but the elf pointed to a door half-hidden behind a fallen pillar that looked like it hadn't been touched since the dawn of time.

Cullen cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. It will take us where we need to go, and also it has not been used by the Mortalitasi. Two gains in a single step."

It took the combined strength of Cullen, Darren, Dorian and Abelas to pry the heavy stones away and lever the door open, but when they did it opened on a cool, airy, and above all cobweb-free hallway. Dorian sent wisps of light out ahead of them, and they pulled the door shut as best they could.

They traveled in almost total silence, save a rushing of water in the distance that didn't bode well for the integrity of the temple's walls. "You know, if the walls have holes in them, there could be all sorts of things in here," said Darren. "Bears. Dragons."

"A lovely thought. I'm trying to stay positive, here," said Dorian.

"Says the man who planted the idea of shapeshifting death mages in my mind."

Solas glanced at them. "It's likely a design of the temple to allow the river to flow within it. For purification."

Cullen looked back at Abelas, who shrugged. Darren was less accepting. "How do you know so much about this place? I thought you didn't even know where it was."

"I didn't," said Solas. "But in my travels I've dreamed in many ruins of my people. There are similarities in their designs."

"Not to mention the war was practically a tour of the things," said Dorian. "Mythal, Dirthamen, a shrine to Sylaise… if we'd found Arlathan under a bush I would have hardly been surprised."

"But you knew where this hallway went," said Darren insistently. "Or where it's going to go, supposedly."

Dorain waved his hand airily. "One thing you'll learn about Solas is that the things he says he knows are mostly guesses," he said. He looked around as they turned into another empty annex. The group spread out to search it for enemies or items. "I wonder who this one belongs to, anyway."

"Elgar'nan," said Abelas. At their questioning looks, he pointed into a corner that wasn't as empty. It held a marble figure sitting cross-legged, balancing a block in each hand. "His statue."

"He's the Father, isn't he? Justice. The leader of the Pantheon," said Dorian. "If we must walk through miles of these things, at least we find the important ones." He turned back to the guardians with a smile. "He and Mythal were married, according to legend. Does that mean you serve him as well?"

"We serve Mythal alone," said one of the women sharply.

Abelas added, "Elgar'nan was husband no more to our Lady, by the end. He was stripped of her protections."

"What happened?" asked Cullen, interested in spite of himself.

"The Wolf came," said Abelas.

"Silence," said Solas. "I hear something ahead."

They all fell quiet, and Solas motioned to Cole to take point as they moved forward. The spirit wavered and flickered as he moved, and Cullen followed closely behind him as they crept into the growing darkness. They came upon a door and there were noises, faint and skittering, and Cullen relaxed slightly. Not human. More wildlife - potentially deadly, but politically simple. When they opened on a nest of deepstalkers, he was almost relieved.

He was less so at the second nest, and even less when they discovered another group of spiders. "You'd think they would all kill each other and save us the trouble," he said when they'd finally dispatched them.

"And keep us from the glory of battle?" said Darren with a laugh. "I only have one skill, and I intend to keep using it."

"Don't," said Cullen, slashing a look at Dorian practically before his brother had finished the thought. The mage closed his mouth and grinned, his eyes speaking volumes.

The guardians watched them all quietly, and Cullen wondered in the absent way of the battle-weary if they even knew what flirting was.

But they couldn't avoid human combat forever, and eventually they stumbled on a lone Mortalitasi mage, a guard against the now-dead monster nests. Before Cullen could react, Cole pulled his dagger across the man's throat in one quiet motion. He died almost instantly, breath and blood rushing out of him in a wave, and Abelas and another guardian dragged his corpse back into a hidden corner.

"I didn't hurt him," said Cole quietly, a look of fear in his eyes at Cullen's unspoken anger. "Quick quiet kills, cutting life away before the string knows it's been touched."

"It was a good death, Cole," said Solas. "And necessary to avoid detection."

Cullen rounded on him. "What's wrong with you? You hate killing," he said. "Murder was the refuge of a barbaric society, I believe you told me once."

"I loathe unnecessary death," said Solas placidly. "But death is a part of the world. Some creatures must die so others may live."

"They're people, not creatures."

"A difference not so great as you might believe," said the elf. He stopped closer to Cullen and spoke in tones low enough to be only between the two of them. "If it were Cassandra, dying, what would you do? What wouldn't you do?"

Cullen thought back to the times he'd suggested an invasion of Nevarra or considered a full war simply to stop her from dancing with a stranger. He might have ordered thousands of deaths, Neverrans and his own men, with only his pride on the line. He looked away. "I'd do anything. But my friends would keep me from myself and my own lack of understanding."

Solas raised his eyebrows and stepped away. "We're not friends, Commander. And I know exactly what I'm doing."

* * *

A few twists and turns later, including a staircase so narrow that they could only travel in a single line, the corridor split into two directions. The party halted and waited for Solas's directions.

"We need to separate," he said. "I'm unsure which path will lead to the correct place."

Cullen sighed unhappily. "Are you sure? I don't like being this close to the Mortalitasi in such small numbers."

"Small numbers might keep us undetected," Darren pointed out.

"Which is all well and good until we aren't," said Dorian.

Solas didn't blink. "We have little time to waste. We must search each passage quickly," he said. "I suggest we separate equally to explore each direction, then meet back in fifteen minutes to compare. With a description of each path I'll be more certain."

"Fine," said Cullen. "I'll take Dorian and Abelas with two of his men, and you take the others."

The group had already started to shuffle into their positions when Solas spoke again. "I think it would be better if the guardians remained together. They are accustomed to working as a unit."

When Cullen looked at Abelas, the man nodded agreement. Cullen returned the gesture. "Okay. But scout and defend only. Do not engage anything or anyone. Understand?"

They all acknowledged the order silently, and to Cullen's surprise Abelas gave him a solemn salute before melting into the blackness behind him.

* * *

Ten minutes later Cullen whispered, "Does this look like the right path?"

"I'm still not certain," said Solas. "If I'm right, there will be a large chamber ahead of us."

"The water is definitely getting louder," said Darren. "That's probably a good sign."

Cole faded in from the shadows. "Something is ahead," he said.

"A large chamber?" asked Cullen.

"Yes. And something hungry." He vanished again.

"We can always count on a spirit to lighten the mood," said Dorian sourly. "Why couldn't we have gotten a desire demon? They're much more enjoyable." He ran a finger over his mustache. "Hungry things are usually to be avoided, outside of the Skyhold dining hall. Shall we turn back?"

"No," said Solas. "Just a little farther. I have to be sure."

Dorian grumbled but fell back in line as they stepped around another corner into a cavernous chamber. Pillars so dark as to be almost black propped up a ceiling that seemed as far above them as the sky. A huge statue made of onyx showed Elgar'nan in his usual pose, but the blocks he held were brilliant blue and red. A river ran swiftly underneath the sitting figure, clearly guided by a stone trench, but the rocks around the entrance were collapsed and broken, crumbled into a heap that had only partially dammed the flow. Light trickled in between the cracks, and Cullen wondered where it was from. He was certain they were well underground now, though cave exploration had never been covered in Templar training.

"Look," said Darren, pointing at the ground, and Cullen hissed in a breath. Clear footprints showed in the dust that had settled over the flagstones. They may have come through the back way, but this place was clearly known to the Nevarrans. Solas's eyes were already on the archway where the footprints led, and he was climbing stone steps to reach it before Cullen could stop him.

"Solas," he hissed. "Get back here. Now that we know this is the right way, we have to go back and meet Abelas."

Whatever the elf would have said was lost in a sudden slithering sound behind them. The party whirled around to the river's entrance, where the glow of the light was increasing. The cause became clear when the head of a wyvern appeared. Fire danced in between its scales as it studied them, and then the fire cracked and released when the creature roared its approval of a new meal.

" _Fasta vass_ ," said Dorian, whipping his staff in front of him.

"If that means 'shit', I agree," said Darren. The hands that held his broadsword was steady, but his voice shook slightly. "Happen to know any spells handy for killing fire lizards?"

"Well, if one of you dies, I'll be able to bring your body back to try again."

"Maker, if you had to let me fall in love with a necromancer, why did it have to be one who thinks he's funny?" asked Darren to the vaulted stone above, but he snuck a glance to the mage behind him. Cole had already slipped against the walls, readying himself to flank, and Cullen moved in the opposite direction to try to distract the wyvern from a vulnerable Solas.

Dorian laughed as he readied a spell. "If you said that to make sure I shield you, I would never leave shoulders like yours exposed. Well, not exposed to attack anyway."

The wyvern roared again, and Cullen yelled back at them, "Flirt later. Darren, take left. I'll go right. Dorian, barriers, then spells, but make sure you ration your magic. Keep Darren protected. Solas, freeze the damn thing." _And Cole will do whatever he wants, per usual._

As though Cole had heard his thoughts, the spirit floated briefly behind the wyvern and struck at the tail before disappearing again. The lizard wheeled with pained cry, and Cullen and Darren moved. Cullen barely felt the coolness of the shield as it settled around him. He was too busy trying to strike the creature without touching it. Fortunately the fire didn't actually shoot out of it, but touching it was an invitation to burns that might knock him out of the fight.

A patch of frozen scales appeared in front of him, and he wasted no time in plunging his sword between the cracks and twisting viciously. The wyvern spun and snapped at the new enemy, but it was already moving more slowly. Dorian focused his spells on the eyes, dancing lightning over them and making it more difficult for the thing to see the figures stinging it with their blades. Around and around it danced, weakening with each blow, and they danced with it. Darren's blade was the best, long and deadly, but all of them settled into a rhythm that left them mostly unsinged.

Cullen, despite the sweat that was running over him in rivers and the ache in his arms, started to hope that they might fell the thing without any major casualties when the wyvern tired of the dance and swung unexpectedly. Its tail whipped through Dorian's barrier and caught Cullen's shield and part of his arm in a vicious swipe. He cried out at the burning line that rose on his flesh even through the leather of his armor. Maker, but the thing was hot. He staggered, and the wyvern sensed an opening. It turned to follow its tail, biting only a handspan away from Cullen's head as he scrambled away. He fell heavily on the flagstones when he dodged, but he continued to crawl backwards.

The great monster pursued, only to run into a new, stronger magical barrier that suddenly snapped into place in front of him. It roared confusion and pain, but Cullen was already turning to Darren in horror. A shield of that strength meant Dorian must have pulled the protections from the other two to fuel it. Cole knew the feeling well enough to dance back, but Darren wasn't used to fighting with the Inquisition and was still pressing, so close to that fiery body and its dangerous, waving tail.

"Shield Darren," he yelled, but Dorian didn't hear as the wyvern continued to come after the injured prey. "Darren, get back!" Solas fired off another ice spell at the head, allowing Cullen to roll away and rise.

Just in time to see the wyvern's tail catch Darren full across the chest and toss him across the room. His body slid into one of the impossibly tall, almost black pillars and was still.

* * *

The rest of the fight was colors without thought. The red haze of violence as Cullen attacked furiously, sword flashing and twisting into the beast's belly. The bright orange of fear, wondering if his brother still breathed where he lay. The blue coolness of magic that was enhanced by the thin Veil that covered them. The purple flashes of Dorian's lightning, striking almost as violently as Cullen's blade. The yellow flashes of the scales as the wyvern bled and died under the relentless assault.

When the lights went out of its body and darkness ruled, Cullen felt the pain of his wounds touch him again. He shrugged it off and ran to the place where Dorian and Solas already knelt. Cole shimmered in behind them. "He hurts," said the spirit, voice full of distress.

If Darren hurt, that meant he was alive. Cullen breathed out in a relieved rush. He leaned against the pillars and looked down at the solemn mages. Solas's pale green magic settled over Darren briefly before he rose. "Commander, let me see your arm."

"Did you heal him?" asked Cullen. "Why isn't he awake?"

Even as he said it, Darren's eyes blinked open. They were tight and lined with pain, but they were aware. "I feel like I just got hit by a giant, angry lizard," he said weakly.

Dorian shushed him gently by giving him water from his flask, but the mage's eyes were furious on Solas. "Heal him fully."

"He is out of danger," said Solas. "He can remain here until we return." He grabbed Cullen's arm and unsnapped the armor deftly.

Cullen stared at him as healing magic flowed through his burn. "Absolutely not," he said. "The Mortalitasi could find him at any minute. And we need another blade. Heal him."

"I can't afford to deplete my magic. It will be needed for what's ahead," said Solas. Cullen looked meaningfully at his arm. Solas's hard expression didn't change. "You must be whole to fight."

"He's right," said Darren, eyes closed again. "I'll be fine."

Dorian's hand stopped its movements through the warrior's dark hair. "Don't be so noble," he said. He rose up and advanced on Solas with his staff raised in a half-threat. He whispered rapidly, "You're not leaving him here like a wounded animal waiting to be killed. He's hurt. He can't defend himself. I revive the dead, not the living. You're the healer. Do your job."

"My job, as you put it, is to retrieve what we came here to find. Making Darren whole enough to be of use will require too much of my power," said Solas. "He will live until we return, and if we don't return, then he may still have a chance to survive. That's all I can promise."

Dorian's staff flickered sparks to match the ones in his eyes. "Not good enough," he said. "Cullen, tell him."

Both mages studied him as he warred within himself. But the choice was already made before the first argument began. Ellana's pale eyes versus his brother's pale face. "The mission comes first," he said and closed his eyes against Dorian's accusing glare. "You swear he's stable, Solas?"

"I'm great," said Darren vaguely before the elf could answer. "Go."

Dorian knelt down again. "I'm staying with him," said the Tevinter man. "I know some healing magic. And any man, or monster, is welcome to test my ability to cause them harm."

Cullen sighed and looked at Solas, asking silent permission to tell him the stakes they were playing for. To his surprise, the elf only shrugged. "Very well. Three of us will be enough for this." He backed away and headed again for the stairs and the arch at the top. Cole followed, face still pained but less acutely.

"What about Abelas?" asked Cullen. "I could go find his group and bring them back. They could help."

Solas didn't look back. "They've encountered several Mortalitasi. They'll be of more use to Dorian and your brother by continuing to distract them."

"How do you know that?"

"It stands to reason," said Solas as he reached the arch again. He waved his hands and muttered, then clutched at the wolf's tooth he wore around his neck. "If we came the right way, they did not."

"But that doesn't mean they've been discovered. You said that like you knew. For certain," said Cullen. He looked at Dorian and saw the same confusion reflected on the mage's face.

Solas didn't answer, but the air underneath the arch began to glow. "Come, Commander," he said. Cole was already waiting with the deep stillness he'd perfected in the halls of Skyhold. It was the stillness of a being who only moved when required, and moved so quickly that he seemed to have always been in the new place he'd found.

Cullen turned back to the two men against the pillar. "I'm sorry," he said helplessly.

"It's okay," said Darren through labored breaths. "You're the hero. Go be it. But remember what I said."

_I'm no hero_ , thought Cullen, but he didn't want to argue. Instead he leaned down and gripped his brother's hand in his own and felt the returning squeeze. "I will. Stay alive. That's an order."

"Yes ser. I'll try my best, ser."

Dorian rolled his eyes, but his expression was tender. "Maker, if I had to fall in love with a soldier, did he have to be so damn self-sacrificing?" His hand slipped down to clasp Darren's free one in his own.

Darren smiled slightly. "Yes, Cullen always has thrown himself into the front lines, from what I've heard. You'll get used to it."

"None of those jokes," said Dorian sharply. "Not now. A soldier should make it policy never to annoy his healer, _amatus._ "

"Did I ever tell you I speak Tevene fluently?" asked Darren. He rattled off a string of words that Cullen didn't understand but made Dorian's cheeks flush in an entirely uncharacteristic way. Cullen released his brother and rose to leave them to their gentle squabble. As he climbed the steps, he heard Darren's weak laugh. "So, _amatus_ am I? I bet you say that to all the boys laying on temple floors."

The rest of it was lost as Cullen stepped through the arch's glow and the world faded away.


	15. Mirror, Mirror

Cullen blinked at the painted walls around him. It was Skyhold's atrium, covered in the mosiacs Solas had created so carefully. "How did we get to Skyhold?" he asked.

"We didn't," said Solas. "It's merely a familiar place."

The walls undulated slightly, like flags in the wind. Cole reached out and grazed one with a finger, and it parted briefly before snapping into shape.

Cullen's mouth went dry. "So this isn't real. Is this the Fade?"

"No," said Cole. "The Fade is real. You cannot touch a shadow, but it exists all the same. This is a reflection of a shadow, built by a ghost."

"A ghost better forgotten," said Solas with a frown. "But it's where we need to be."

The only furniture in the room was Solas's desk, and the elf crossed to it swiftly to try the drawers, muttering to himself. Cole drifted alongside Cullen and spoke again. "Where would you hide something that you would not wish to be found, Cullen Rutherford?"

He frowned. "Somewhere only I knew."

"But if you know it, then it's able to be known. Minds are not as closed as humans would believe."

"Then a place only I can access."

"Better, another layer of secrets, but still too weak. Locks without keys can still be broken."

"Then where?" asked Cullen.

Cole smiled. "You hide it nowhere. A place that isn't, until you need it to be," he said. "The elves loved secrets." He looked up at the rippling paintings in silence once more.

"So this is an Elvhen place. A hidden place, like the Eluvian courtyard Morrigan talked about. Except we didn't go through an Eluvian. But we're here now," said Cullen, walking the path patiently in his mind. "If Elgar'nan hid this thing somewhere that doesn't exist until he needs it, we shouldn't be able to find this place without him."

"Would you hide your secrets from your wife?" asked Cole.

Cullen froze. Solas glanced over at them but said nothing before going back to searching.

"No," said Cullen eventually. "I have no secrets from her."

"Nor did Elgar'nan from Mythal," said Cole. "That doomed him, drained him, destroyed him. But it will save Ellana now."

Solas slammed his hands on the desk and growled. "Not if I can't find it. Where is it?" he asked, but he didn't appear to expect an answer from either of his companions. He clenched his fists and seemed to argue with himself as they watched.

Or perhaps not with himself. A woman's voice came faintly over them, like voices from the library drifting through the atrium in the real Skyhold. "The Wolf prevents its discovery, as I warned you."

Was that Ellana? It didn't sound like her. Some ancient Elvhen ghost trapped in this place? Cullen looked around him, crouched in battle position almost unconsciously before he realized his sword was gone. Not that one would work, probably, in a place that was a reflection of a shadow. And it didn't matter, because there was no one there but the three of them. The voice was just a voice.

"Use the Templar," it said.

Solas turned towards Cullen with a predatory look, and Cullen stepped back instinctively, pressing against the fabric of the walls. It felt cold and clammy on his exposed skin, like a sweat-drenched shirt put on after it had cooled, and he shuddered. Solas didn't seem to care. He was advancing on Cullen when another voice stopped him short.

"Or use the mage."

The second voice was familiar, reedy and pompous, with an air of superiority that made the hackles on Cullen's neck rise as he turned. Vestalus stood in a new hole in the wall, and even as they watched the room melted into a new shape. Dmitri's palace faded in around them, white gleaming columns and Nevarran paintings appearing in the air. It was like falling into a dream backwards, and the vertigo twisted Cullen's stomach painfully.

Vestalus seemed unaffected. "Fascinating," he said, strolling the perimeter and running his hands across the moist web of unreality in wonder. "It finds a place we can all envision. Your kind were truly inventive, if foolhardy. I appreciate the aid in unlocking this place, Solas. Or do you prefer Fen'Harel here?"

Solas snarled and glowed briefly as a wave of power rushed through the room. Vestalus held up a hand, and it flowed around him harmlessly. He chuckled without humor. "Please. This is the seat of Justice. A defense against betrayal, for those who know how to use it. And Nevarra knows it very well," he said. "I've always thought Elgar'nan would have appreciated my country."

The elf's expression didn't change, but his eyes sparkled with deadly humor. "Elgar'nan was a tyrant who would have killed one of your kind for daring to speak his name."

The Mortalitasi shrugged and changed the subject. "I'm rather disappointed in you. The feared Dread Wolf, nothing more than an easily manipulated elf. We've searched for you for years, you know. My brethren coveted the wisdom of the last of the great souls to walk Thedas. Well, except the archdemons, I suppose, but we've never found any way to communicate with the darkspawn. Not coherently."

"What do you mean by great souls?" asked Cullen, but neither man even looked at him.

"Did you think we didn't feel you cross through the Veil all those years ago?" Vestalus continued. "You disrupted several of our more delicate experiments and released untold numbers of spirits into the Fade before they were ready. The balance of a god is weighty indeed."

"I never desired godhood," said Solas. "I only wanted my people to be free to choose their own destiny."

"Clearly a choice they weren't ready for," said Vestalus. "Regardless, you hid yourself well. There were whispers of activity, hints of your power in the Breach, rumors of a magister returned to ally with his old friend, but nothing solid. Nothing real. Some of my fellows suspected the Inquisitor of harboring your soul, but she is far too pacifistic. Too weak to be great."

Solas's fists clenched, Cullen hissed a breath, and Cole spun a shifting dagger through his fingers with a dangerous look. Vestalus only raised his eyebrows.

"I was starting to believe you'd fled the world entirely after your failure to tear it apart and rebuild it in your image. Imagine my surprise when you invited me to Cumberland. A mage of unusual power, here, in Nevarra. And with a wolf's tooth talisman, worn so prominently. Did you really think I wouldn't know?" Vestalus laughed and began circling again. "Such arrogance. You chose your host very well, Fen'Harel. And those clumsy attempts to probe my mind with that," he added, waving at Cole. "I recognize a spirit when it stands next to me. A Mortalitasi is not so easily misled."

Cole seemed to shrink as the Nevarran stared at him. "Compassion," he said. "Another weak ally. But you've changed it, haven't you? No longer reacting but asserting itself into the world. You're twisting its power to your own ends. The cunning of the Wolf infects us all, if he's allowed to run free."

"I help," whispered Cole.

"Ah, but who do you help, little spirit?" asked Vestalus in a voice that was almost kind. "You should have stayed in the next world."

Solas folded his arms. "You sound like the Father."

Vestalus grinned suddenly. "And why shouldn't I? He's shown me in my dreams who I can be. The Inquisition solved a problem only to create a new one that will swallow us all. But not while I stand here. You've unlocked the door, just as he predicted, just as I expected. Justice will be returned to us all in this perfect moment."

"Elgar'nan is dust."

"Even dust makes patterns, for those who can read them. The great souls never die," said Vestalus. "Yes, his soul is too scattered to ever return. Only flickers of power remain for me. But his talisman will bring the rest." The mage reached into a cabinet that sprang into existence at a gesture. He drew out a necklace made of pure gold with a pendant shaped like a scale dangling from the end. It gleamed dully but had a weight to it that marked it as truth. Not just a reflection but the reality inside of it.

Cullen didn't hesitate. The mage's wanderings had brought him close to hand, and he lunged to capture the man in his arms. Vestalus squeaked, surprised, and Cullen grabbed at the necklace while he brought a forearm across the other man's windpipe. Vestalus struggled and wheezed in his grip, but Cullen held on grimly. He didn't want to kill anyone, but Cassandra hated this man. Feared him. His crimes were great and unprovable, and his death would be the justice he seemed to value so much.

Cole keened and shuddered as the mage's struggles weakened, and Cullen might well have choked the life out of him completely if Vestalus hadn't sent a burst of power through his arm directly to Cullen's heart. He stumbled back, gasping and coughing to reassure himself that he was still alive, and Vestalus whirled around with coughs of his own. The necklace still dangled from his hand, and Solas hissed annoyance.

"You want this?" asked Vestalus in a hoarse voice that nevertheless held a note of incredulity. "What good could it possibly do you, brute of a soldier?"

Cullen's heart was still galloping, wild like a stallion with the bit in its teeth. His vision greyed as he fought to stay conscious. "Save the Inquisitor," he muttered with his hand to his head. "Hold the power of the anchor."

The Mortalitasi laughed, an unending wave of mirth that filled the room. Cullen blinked it back into his vision and saw Solas watching the swinging talisman like a cat. _Except he's a wolf inside_ , thought Cullen muzzily.

But the thought fled as Vestalus's laughter subsided into hacking coughs. "Did he tell you that?" he asked. "And you believed him? I thought my niece would at least choose an intelligent man in her rebellion." He looked Cullen up and down with a curled lip. "Very disappointing to think she wasted both her life and her heart on brawn alone."

Cullen glared and readied a defense of Cassandra, but Vestalus continued without stopping. "This talisman doesn't hold power. It holds a soul. And once I wear it, and it locks Fen'Harel's soul inside of me, Thedas will know an immortal reign the likes of which hasn't been seen since Arlathan."

Solas's eyebrows raised slightly. "And you intend to do this how? You lack the power to force me to do anything, human. And the Fade is a far reach from this place. You've already used what little magic you have," he said. A staff crackled into the air in front of him. "I, on the other hand, have only begun."

"Then why not take this from me?" asked Vestalus, swinging the chain slightly. He smiled when Solas frowned. "You can't touch it here, can you? Elgar'nan's wisdom was great even when his heart was too kind. He trusted you before you betrayed him, before you flattered and made empty love to his wife under the shadow of his house. You convinced her to join your bloody rebellion. Such a persuasive traitor. Yes, he trusted you. But he never trusted you enough for this."

Another ripple of Solas's power filled the room and slid harmlessly around the Nevarran. "Elgar'nan protects me, Wolf. He showed me this path to control, to finally cage you as he should have done all of those years ago. The elves turned away from him. They aren't worthy of his power. But I am. He's made me his vessel to forgive the ignorance of humanity." He smiled beatifically. "An Andraste, if you will. But I won't burn as she did."

Vestalus advanced on Solas, who looked as close to panic as he'd ever gotten. Cullen stood locked in place, head pounding. Solas had lied to him. Solas was a killer and a god. Or was Vestalus lying now? Who was the villain and who was the hero?

_You're the hero, brother,_ said Darren's voice in his mind, and he clenched his fists against it.

"You unlocked the door to this place, Fen'Harel. A dozen of my fellows sacrificed themselves to gain the power to send me here, but the path is open. More will come, if I call. Between us, we'll match you. The mages will rise to power, as it is in Tevinter, as it should be in the world, and we will hold both life and death in our hands," said Vestalus. His voice was deepening, taking on the echoes of a lilting Elvhen accent. Cullen blinked as his face shifted from human to elf and back again.

He reached out to grab Solas's arm, and the elf swatted him away with the insubstantial staff. A barrier sprang between them, but it was weak and failing even as it appeared. Cole moved, trying to swipe Vestalus with his own dagger, but it glanced harmlessly away.

"Cullen," said Solas urgently. "Be ready. Catch the talisman when it falls. Please. It will save Ellana. I swear it on her life."

"Who are you?" whispered Cullen.

Solas smiled then, his first true smile since Lothering. "I'm her heart."

And that was true, and that decided him. He nodded. If a choice had to be made, he would trust Ellana. And Cassandra. He knew what they would say.

Vestalus was still trying to get through the barrier, his questing hand looking for the wolf's tooth necklace that hung from Solas's neck, but the elf grabbed it and bared his teeth in a feral grin. "You called me the last great soul to walk Thedas. You are more correct than you know. I am Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, the patron of rebellion, the one who fights for those who do not know how," he said. "But I am also Mythal, and she is the only protector worthy of the name."

A shudder ran through him as the feral look melted into something infinitely sadder. "I had hoped to never do this again," said Solas's lips, but the voice was the woman's that had come from nowhere. "Goodbye, husband."

Vestalus's flesh reddened under the hand on his wrist, and he screamed in great wailing breaths that twisted around them into sharp edges slicing into Cullen's soul. Cole knelt on the ground and covered his ears, and Cullen wondered if this is what the pain of another felt to him all the time. No wonder their words spilled out of him like blood from a wound. How much anguish had they asked him to endure in silence?

But it didn't matter because Vestalus was losing the talisman, and Cullen had promised to catch it when it fell. He fought through the ragged edges of the air to be ready, and when Vestalus's eyes rolled back into his head for the final time and his hand relaxed, Cullen grabbed the falling gold out in his outstretched hand. The hand with the burn, he realized with numb amusement.

And then it wasn't amusing because he was boiling and breaking underneath the weight of something too powerful to name. Solas was yelling something to Cole over the corpse of the mage, and Cullen's mind was as open as a cloudless sky. A woman's face filled it and pressed against his vision.

_Ellana,_ he thought. Elven and beautiful, with eyes that were sad and happy in equal measures.

_No,_ the woman's mouth said soundlessly. _Mythal._

* * *

When Cullen came to he was on the stone floor of the temple cavern. But he was also in a spired city as white as Frostback snow, glowing with the light of gentle magic. Darkness and light alternated in his vision, and he whimpered as each blink brought a new image. The overwhelming feeling of lyrium ran through his blood once more, familiar and dangerous, and he wondered if he would die. Or worse, have to fight his way back to life once more.

"Shh, Commander," said Solas. The elf's hand was cool on his fevered brow. "Not much longer now. Sleep."

_Am I possessed,_ he tried to say, but Solas's command washed through him. He slipped into the Fade.

* * *

Ellana paced the length of her chambers in Skyhold with a quick, harried step. The emerald gown she wore swished irritably. "Fix him," she said in her Inquisitor's voice.

" _Vhenan,_ " said Solas, "it may not be possible. His mind was too rigid to hold so much power. It shattered." He was transparent and distant at her desk, but his words came clearly through the room.

"Then put it back together." When Solas shook his head she stopped walking and glared. "Don't tell me you can't, Fen'Harel. You fixed me. You kept the anchor from consuming everything I am. A mind is nothing for you."

Cullen watched it all from the staircase and noticed with a start that her anchor wasn't there. Her hands were clean and unmarked. And more than that, she was strong and healthy once more. Seeing her this way, the way she'd been at the beginning, was heartbreaking. It had been so easy to overlook the weakness when it overtook her gradually, but now it was clear how much she'd all lost. How much they'd all lost.

They still hadn't noticed him, and Solas's voice was weary. "It will take time. Time you may not have."

"If I don't have time to save the people I love, what's the point of saving myself?" she asked softly.

Solas's shoulders slumped in defeat. "By your command."

Ellana crossed the room and placed a hand to his cheek, her fingers resting against a curve that could barely be seen. "Thank you. I love you." Her lips brushed the air, and a sigh of contentment blew through the room before the elven man vanished.

"Cullen," he heard, and he looked up to see Ellana staring at him with a sad expression. "I'm sorry this is happening."

"What is happening?" he asked helplessly. "Who is Solas? Who are you? Where are we?"

Ellana sat on the bed and patted the place next to her. He joined her without moving, as though the moments of travel were lost in the cracks of his memory.

"Solas was right, you are a bad dreamer," she said with a touch of amusement. "This is the Fade. But a protected part, one he created to hold our minds when we sleep. There are no spirits here."

"One he created?"

"He manipulates the Fade well. He's had a lot of practice," she said. She held up her unblemished hand. "I'm only just learning to shape my wishes."

"Is the gown another wish?"

She looked down at herself, bemused. "Am I wearing a gown? I'm afraid you supplied that yourself," she said. A smile curved her face wickedly. "Solas never sees anything at all."

He blushed and looked away, which made her laugh. The sound of it squeezed his heart. It sounded so much like the real her, the woman he'd only gotten to know after he'd released the woman he'd wanted her to be. He hadn't had enough time to be her friend. Not nearly enough.

Cullen looked back at her, and she sobered quickly. She took his hand and rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. He closed his eyes. "What's happened?"

"When you took the amulet from the mage, you formed a conduit that pulled an ancient power inside of you," she said. "You weren't prepared for it, and your mind isn't suited to carry it. You aren't a mage."

"A power. You mean Mythal. One of the Elvhen gods." When she nodded, he ran his free hand through his hair and whispered, "I saw her, in my mind. She was me. And now I'm an abomination."

"No, Cullen. You're still you. The ancient elves aren't like spirits. They can't force their way inside or take away your mind. The host has to be willing," she said. "Solas is drawing the spirit back out of you and into himself. It will help."

"A willing host. Like Solas's body. Whoever he was before he became a monster."

Ellana gripped his fingers warningly. "Solas was a boy in a northern clan. They had too many mages and cast him out when he was only seven years old. He was lost and captured by an abusive man who hoped to control a mage. The boy prayed for the power to fight against him, and Fen'Harel answered. The Dread Wolf gifted him a talisman to hold his spirit and the wisdom to use it. He saved him."

"How is that any different from a blood mage who trades his body for power or riches or love or revenge? The spirit may have a different origin, but the results are the same. Corruption. Destruction. Death," said Cullen. "I've seen too much of this not to recognize it for what it is. Solas, or Fen'Harel, nearly killed us all with that orb. He's still killing you."

"He made a mistake," she said in hard tones. She was the Inquisitor again. "He's powerful, but he's not perfect. I wouldn't ask him to be. Do you think he doesn't know his mistakes? Why do you think he's so driven to fix this? To keep me alive?"

Cullen yanked his hand away and stood to pace. His mind was sharpening, slotting into place. Maybe Solas really was healing him. "You said Fen'Harel answered the boy. Where did Mythal come in?"

"Mythal found a living host centuries ago, a woman who wanted her protections and her longevity. Solas found her in turn three years ago, and Mythal came to him willingly."

"Because they were lovers. In ancient times." The knowledge was there, both learned and understood in the bones. A gift from the spirit, most likely. Still, somehow it was easier to believe that two spirits as old as the stars were walking the world than he would have expected. Maybe it was the influence of the Fade. Maybe he was simply exhausted.

Ellana frowned. "Yes."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"No. It was a long time ago. And soon it won't matter."

"What does that mean?" asked Cullen. His blood ran cold as a whisper of Mythal ran through the room. Not gone, not yet. And she knew what he would never have guessed. "You're going to become her. You're going to allow her to possess you."

"It's not possession. I told you. It's a partnership," she said stubbornly.

"How much of you do you think will be left when she makes her home inside of you, Ellana? How much of that scared little boy is left inside of Solas?" Cullen pivoted on the ball of his foot and strode forward to take her shoulders. "He's killing people. He sent Abelas and his men to their deaths on purpose. He knew exactly what he was doing, and what he was doing was murder. Because they were going to tell me about his seduction of Mythal and the beginning of the fall of the elves. Something I learned anyway, without their help. They died for nothing. Sacrificed to his paranoia."

She blinked up at him, but her face didn't give way. He tried to soften his voice. "I don't know what Solas was once, but right now he's a demon. His actions will only hurt the world. Hurt you. You can't do this."

Ellana wrenched away from his hands with a hiss. "He's not a demon. And you forget yourself, Commander. I'm the Inquisitor, and I don't take orders from you."

"Who do you take orders from? Him?" Another piece settled into place. "Cassandra told me about the bargain you struck in Mythal's temple, of the Well and the price it carried. Eternal subservience to Mythal. Cassandra thought it was nonsense, fealty to a dead goddess who might never have existed in the first place. But it wasn't, was it? You're bound to her will. Which means his will."

She made a noise of protest, but he was already continuing. "Solas controlled Abelas, too. The guardians bowed and scraped and died at his whim. When Solas called for silence in the temple, they never spoke again," he said. "He's controlling you the same way. You don't want this, Ellana."

"You have no idea what I want," she said. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and her hands shook as she stared at them. At the place the anchor usually lived. Her voice cracked and wavered as she whispered, "Is it so hard to believe that I want to live?"

His anger vanished. At his silence she looked back up at his face. "Maybe it is hard to believe, for you," she said. "You're a soldier. The best one I've ever known. You're not afraid of pain, or if you are you don't give into the fear. You take punishment, you suffer nobly, and you're strong enough to resist any temptation. Even the promise of life on the cusp of death."

The tears spilled, then, and Cullen sat back on the bed and pulled her to his chest. She sobbed as her muffled words rose between them. "I'm not that strong. I'm not brave. I thought I would die a dozen times in the war, and it would have been worth it. To stop Corypheus and save the world. I would have done it, then. The whole point of my life was for it to end, in the right way. At the right time."

He stroked her hair and felt his own tears fall. Her words came faster and more desperately. "But I lived. Destiny was kinder to me than I ever dreamed. But to die now? Now that I finally have something to live for? I can't. I love him. I love you, and Leliana, and Josephine, and Cassandra, and all the rest and I don't want to leave you. I'm sorry to be so weak in front of you. I wish I was the leader you always believed I was. I wish I could be more like you, Cullen. I've tried to be."

"You're worth a thousand of me," he said firmly. He tried to laugh but it came out thready and weak. "Why do you think I'm trying so hard to save you?"

She pulled back and smiled through her tears. "I thought it was because Cassandra asked you to."

His heart stopped. "Does she know about this?"

"No," she said sadly. "They only know what we do will save my life. None of them know how."

"What if it's not your life anymore? What if this has all been a trick, by Fen'Harel and Mythal, to be with each other again?"

Mythal's faint anger touched his mind, but he threw it aside. He would ask his questions.

"It's a risk I have to take," she said quietly. "I trust in three things in this world. Solas's love for me, the Inquisition's power to do good, and you. I know that it may go wrong, but I have to believe in something."

Cullen knew how she felt, believing in something that was terrifyingly powerful and so easily lost. Like the Templars. Like the Inquisitor. Like Cassandra. They could harm and heal. But in the end there had to be a light somewhere in the world that steered them all. And he was one of hers.

"I'll be there when it happens," he said. "I'll make sure you're okay." Just like a Harrowing, he thought while his stomach clenched. If making sure she was okay meant killing the thing that took her away, he would do that, too.

She understood his meaning and didn't shy away from the threat. Instead, she pulled him into another hug, and he returned it as best he could with his shaking arms. After a minute she wriggled out of the circle of his arms to kiss him on the cheek and breathe a thank you. As she did, Solas appeared beside them, more substantial this time. He frowned at their intimate pose but only said, "It is done."

"What is?" asked Cullen.

"Your mind is restored to what it was. Whatever that's worth. You can return to your body now." He turned to Ellana and pulled her to her feet. His hand curled around her waist possessively as he leaned his forehead against hers. "I'll be there soon, _vhenan_."

He kissed her mouth with a thoroughness that left Ellana breathless and Cullen embarrassed. Before she could respond, the elf was gone once more. Cullen felt himself fading as well, but he kept his eyes steady on his friend's.

"I won't let you lose yourself," he said as the room around him darkened. "I promise, Ellana."

"I believe you," she said, and that was the last thing he heard as he fell out of the Fade.

* * *

He awoke again on the stone floor, but this time when he blinked the picture stayed the same. No more elven woman. No more crystal spires and clouds. Only Solas, kneeling above him with cold eyes.

"Thank you," said Cullen.

Solas didn't answer, only stared at him. The golden talisman rested in his open palm

Cullen sat up and rubbed his head. It ached slightly, and his stomach rumbled with bottomless hunger, but he at least felt complete and unified. Best of all, the feeling of lyrium flooding his veins was gone, and there was no craving replacing it. _Not yet at least_.

"Don't we need to get to Ellana?" he asked.

"Yes." Solas didn't move. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Cullen obliged him. "If you overwhelm her with this, if you cause her to forget who she is, I'll kill you," he said conversationally.

"I had the same thought about you, Commander." Solas's violet eyes were dark enough to be black. "Don't get in my way."

"I'll do what's right."

Solas barked a laugh. "As if your kind could ever know what that is," he said. He leaned closer and gripped Cullen's neck. "Remember that she wanted to save you. I would have left you to your madness, but she insisted you be healed. She risked herself to keep you whole."

Power slid through the elf's hand. Before Cullen could even think to fight, it had him sliding into blackness once more. A promise of a dreamless sleep, the Fade doors inexorably closed to his mind.

"Make sure you deserve it."


	16. True Love's Kiss

The next time Cullen woke, there were soft lips pressed to his. They were familiar and glorious, and he lifted his hand to curl around the back of the head full of short, dark hair he loved so much. He felt Cassandra gasp, her mouth parting, and he seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips and tasting the heady sin that always awaited him. His other hand slid down her body greedily. She so rarely woke him up for this, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

He didn't let go until his fogged mind realized that she was wearing armor and there was a wetness on his cheeks that wasn't from him. He pulled back, keeping his hand in place to prevent her from leaving, but his heart tightened at the tears on her face. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" The sky was blue above, and the sounds of the woods were all around him. He frowned as incomplete memories of the temple presented themselves to him in a broken, ragged line. "Why are you here? How did I get outside?"

"You're alive," she whispered.

"Of course I am," he said. He massaged her neck with his fingers and smiled crookedly. "You're here. And I would never leave you."

She traced the scar above his mouth with her thumb and stared at him with such fevered wanting that only a deliberate cough from somewhere above prevented him from dragging her back to him to finish what they'd started. He sat up instead, never letting his hand leave her skin even as he looked around. Dmitri watched them warily, and a company of Nevarrans as well as the Fereldan contingent stood vigil with their eyes carefully diverted. Dorian and Darren were a few yards away, the former hovering with exhausted eyes and the latter sitting up with color back in his cheeks.

Dmitri knelt down beside them. "To answer your question, we carried you out, Commander. You were unconscious, but we could find no injuries. Are you well?"

Cullen considered, moving his arms and legs experimentally. "I don't feel hurt," he said. His stomach tightened painfully. "But I'm starving."

Cassandra handed him a leaf-wrapped piece of venison, already cooked, and he devoured half of it before looking up with a smile. "You're always feeding me. Soon you won't have to worry about my belt anymore."

She smiled back hesitantly, and he threaded his fingers through hers. Sadness flashed across Dmitri's face, but Cullen couldn't find it in him to care. He couldn't remember why, but looking at her brought on echoes of an aching fear that he might never see her again. It wasn't pleasant, and he would hold her hand until it went away.

"I still don't know why you're here," said Cullen. Dorian tugged Darren to his feet, and they moved closer. Cullen spared a quick look for his brother and was relieved to see him nod in acknowledgment and reassurance. He turned back to Cassandra. "How did you know where to find us?"

"I had a dream," she said, frowning. "I think it was a dream. The Inquisitor and Solas. They told me how to find this place."

A dream with Ellana and Solas. The thought tickled something in his mind, and he said without thinking, "Ellana saved me." It was true and yet it made no sense. She was in Skyhold. Nowhere near this place. He touched his head in confusion and looked around. "Where is Solas? And Cole?"

Cassandra's eyes widened, and Cullen remembered too late that Cole was a secret. Dmitri politely ignored the slip, though his eyes were cold. "We recovered several bodies from the temple," he said, sweeping his hand behind him to where several robed men stood next a pyre. "Mortalitasi and elves. We are sending them to their rest as best we can, but none were Solas. Perhaps one was this Cole."

Abelas and the rest. Cullen rubbed a hand over his eyes. "No, not Cole," he said, lost. "Cole was alive. But Solas killed them."

"The Mortalitasi?" asked Cassandra.

"No. The elves. The guardians."

"Why?" she asked, incredulous. She looked at Dorian, who shrugged with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I don't remember," he said, balling his hands into fists. "Ask him."

"He's not here," said Dorian. Darren threw a sharp look at his lover, who turned himself to address both of them. "He left three days ago. Right after you came back out of the arch."

"Three days?" Now Cullen was the incredulous one. "I was asleep that long?"

"Hence our belief you were dying, Commander," said Dorian. "Though, of course, we're ecstatic you're still with us."

"Tell me what happened," he ordered.

Dorian and Darren both threw him mock salutes, and he glowered at them. Darren smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "We saw you go into the glowing arch with Solas and Cole. Time was a bit hard to track in the bottom of a temple with a wyvern corpse, but about a day later, a group of Mortalitasi, led by Vestalus, arrived in the chamber. A very dashing and resourceful Tevinter mage, who'd been keeping me alive and fed, hid us. Unfortunately, at that point my mind decided that it would be best to hide all of me from the world, and I passed out for good. I don't know if it helped but it did keep me busy."

"Don't joke, _amatus_ ," said Dorian quietly. He cleared his throat and spoke more loudly. "The Mortalitasi did a blood magic ritual in front of the archway that produced a similar effect to Solas's earlier spell. Vestalus was the only survivor and he promptly vanished, which was fortunate because they were playing havoc with the Veil and my magic was far from reliable. I wasn't sure I'd be able to take even one, much less the dozen that had appeared.

"No one else came, not even Abelas and his group, which I found puzzling. I know now they were dead," he said, nodding to the pyre. "They likely saved our lives with the groups of mages they cleared, and for that I'm most grateful. I did what I could to keep us going - Darren was in no shape to move - and waited. A day later Cole flew back out of the archway, in quite a state and completely incoherent."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, and Dorian chuckled wryly. "More incoherent than usual. When he saw us, he couldn't speak a sentence altogether, but he did leave the temple and bring us back food. Water I had from the river, but the food was very welcome. Then Cole left, or perhaps simply vanished, you never know with him, and the archway started to crumble worryingly. I tried to test it with my magic but feared causing it even more harm. So I waited again. Fortunately my magic was returning, and my limited healing skills were less limited. Two days later, approximately, you and Solas appeared."

"Wait a minute," Cullen broke in. "We were in there for four days?" Dorian nodded, and Cullen turned to Cassandra as he tightened his grip on her hand. "I thought it was only a few hours at most. A week with no word at all from any of us. You must have been frantic."

"Yes," she said. A simple word for a simple answer, but there was nothing simple about the lingering concern in her eyes or the new worry lines around her mouth.

Cullen leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

She cradled his cheek in her free hand. "You're safe. And forgiven."

Dmitri cleared his throat loudly. "I was also worried, for the record," he said, and the two of them sprang apart with flushed cheeks. "Please continue, Altus Pavus."

"You got my title right!" said Dorian in delight, then sobered again. "After your triumphant return, the arch collapsed completely. When I went up the stairs to ask what in the name of the Maker's ass was going on, you were unconscious and Solas was leaving. He told me to watch you, that you'd needed healing and would take time to recover. He also briefly stopped over Darren and did more to heal him in five minutes than I'd done all week. He then said he was going to find Abelas and Cole. He never returned. While being alone in a dark room with two Rutherford men is a particular fantasy of mine, neither of you were in quite the state I'd hoped for."

"So I can't make a joke, but you can," said Darren, but he was shifting on his feet anxiously, darting looks at Cullen.

"My jokes are funny," said the mage with a wave of his hand, but it ended in an apologetic caress of the other man's arm. "Darren was coming out of his healing more frequently, but he was still in no condition to help. I was on the verge of leaving you both and hoping to somehow get a message to anyone who might help - though I had no idea how - when these delightful people came to assist me. And now here we are."

Darren jerked away from Dorian's touch and knelt. He put both hands on Cullen's shoulders and stared at him with a terrifying intensity. The look in his eyes was impatience and regret, but Cullen barely had time to be confused before his brother said urgently, "Did Solas find what he was looking for?" When Cullen only stared at him, he sighed. "The necklace. Did he find it? Is he taking it to Skyhold?"

Like a dam breaking, the blanks in his mind filled with tumbling pictures, and he inhaled sharply. "The necklace. Yes, he has it. Oh Maker, I was supposed to go with him," he said. His fists clenched. "I promised Ellana I would be there."

His brother swore and jumped up to pace, but the rest of them only looked confused. "How do you even know about it?" asked Cullen, caught up in remembering.

"Know about what?" asked Dmitri with steely patience.

Cassandra rubbed her hand across his knee and asked the same question with her eyes, and Cullen tried to gather himself. He looked only at her as he explained as best he could what had happened. The unreal place, Vestalus's appearance and death, and even the hidden secrets of Solas and Mythal. The only thing he kept back was the dream with Ellana, the fear and terror of her impeding death and the roads she was desperate enough to walk. He would tell Cassandra, later, but not here. Not with strange ears listening and judging.

But it didn't matter, because Darren was still pacing with coiled energy and had no such compunctions. "Don't you understand? He's going to let Mythal possess the Inquisitor," he said, snarling. "The most powerful person in Thedas, with a will that's no longer her own. Why didn't you stop him?"

_It's a partnership,_ thought Cullen, but even he barely believed it. Dmitri and Cassandra had set, hard looks on their faces, but Dorian only stared at his lover with a growing horror. Cullen pushed himself up over Cassandra's protests and walked over to grab his brother's arm. "How do you know this?" he asked again.

Darren stopped moving and hesitated. Dorian's rich tones floated over them, sardonic and deeply pained. "Sleeping with the enemy, was it? I must admit I'm flattered."

"No," said Cullen, shaking his head as Darren closed his eyes. "You're not."

His brother sighed. "I am. I'm sorry," he said. He opened his eyes again to pin Cullen with his gaze. "I work for Fereldan's spymaster. I was assigned to the company going to the Inquisition to keep an eye on your senior leadership, especially Solas."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "You and Iron Bull will get along famously. You both have such a complete lack of discretion. Did they stop teaching spies that in order to spy effectively, you're not ever supposed to tell people about it?"

Darren flinched but didn't speak. Cullen folded his arms. "Why?" Even he wasn't sure if he meant why him or why anyone.

He answered both questions. "We knew the Inquisitor was ill, and we'd caught wind of some potentially dangerous cures being considered by your apostate. Cures that might be worse than Corypheus and the Breach. The return of a bloody Elvhen dynasty and the eradication of what humanity they could reach. Maybe another attempt to pierce the Veil. Maybe more," he said. "I was sent on with you to Nevarra for the same reason. As to why it was me, they thought our familial relationship would help me get access to the people I needed. And that it would make me less scrutinized by your own people. Leliana. Bull."

"And what pleasurable access you received," said Dorian. "I only wish I'd known how illicit it really was. I might have enjoyed myself more. Covert liaisons are so very stimulating, don't you think, Sergeant?"

Darren pushed past Cullen and advanced on the mage, who only smiled at him. His grin was flirtatious, but his eyes were cold. Only when Darren grabbed his shoulders did Dorian's expression break into anger.

"Don't," said Darren. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh? Then what was it like? Please don't feed me a tired line about love at first sight. I simply won't believe you."

"Of course it wasn't. For either of us," said Darren. "If you tell me I put stars in your eyes in Cullen's office, you're lying. Sure, you obviously wanted me. You flirted outrageously, you were clearly available, and you were hot. I was on assignment, not dead. If you happened to spill a little insight into the Inquisition during pillow talk, so be it. We would both get what we wanted out of the arrangement, and a few other things besides."

Dorian laughed bitterly. "I can assure you I received plenty of what I wanted before you came along. The Inquisition is full of sinfully handsome men, and I am gorgeous and utterly without morals," he said. He cocked his head to the side and slashed a smile. "Traits that we seem to share."

"Everything that you wanted? Don't insult my intelligence," said Darren, anger clear in his voice. "I knew exactly what you were doing. You think I was using you? Fine. I was, in some ways, at least at the beginning. But don't act like the injured innocent. Don't pretend like getting me into your bed was anything more than taking the lesser Rutherford to satisfy your longing for the greater one."

Cullen's cheeks flamed as Dorian's eyes flicked to him once, inscrutably. Darren's ears were red as well, but he moved a gentle hand to Dorian's cheek, stroking his thumb along the mage's jaw. His tones quieted, anger gone. "But I cared about you anyway. You made the rest of the world seem so dull, and I caught myself watching you sleep at night just to memorize the outline of your face. I didn't know what to do. Falling in love with a man who would rather be with my own brother wasn't something I'd ever wanted to happen. And a Tevene mage, no less, when my entire career has been working against Tevinter to keep my country safe.

"But there I was. By the time we left Skyhold, I knew I didn't want to look at anyone else. By the time the ball was over, I knew I didn't want anyone else to look at you. And on the ship here, in that wet, damp, smelly hold where you were still so unfairly perfect, I knew that I didn't want you to look at anyone else ever again." Darren's voice caught and broke. "How could I tell you that? I'd lied to you from the beginning, and I still wasn't the man you really wanted. It was simpler just to keep pretending it wasn't anything."

He shook his head. "And there was the threat to Ferelden. I had a job to do. I was fairly certain by then that you were ignorant of the dangers your Inquisition posed, but I couldn't be sure. You're a very good liar."

"What a lovely compliment," said Dorian. His tones were less brittle than they had been, though Cullen noticed he'd kept his hands still and free.

Darren seemed to realize the same and dropped his own. He stepped back, defeated. "As time went on it got too difficult to ignore the divide inside of myself. I stopped sending reports to Ferelden the week before all of this happened. I was planning to explain everything and beg you to run away with me, to let me show you that I was more than just an imitation of your desires. I loved you, and a spy who loves something more than his cause isn't a useful spy," he said. "Which is never more true than now, because Solas has the artifact I was told to sacrifice myself to keep from him, and Ferelden wasn't prepared to move, and I may have doomed us all."

He started to turn back to Cullen but stopped and added in a low voice, "But I would probably do it again, if the choice presented itself. I never thought I would find someone worth destroying my world for. Don't ever think I didn't care, Dorian."

There was no answer as Dorian walked away, and Darren clenched his fists once, hard, before focusing back on the rest of the group. "All of that aside, whatever I am, whatever I said or didn't say, this is bigger than all of that. I'm telling you this now because you have to know the stakes. We have to get to Skyhold. You can't let Mythal take over the Inquisitor. She's dangerous."

"How dangerous?" asked Cassandra quietly. Cullen glanced at her and saw she was even paler than usual. He took her hand again, but there was no answering squeeze from her fingers.

"Let's just say if I'd known Solas was harboring her, I would have killed him my first night in the hold." Darren shook his head. "To think we had dozens of people searching for her, and she was right next to me the whole time. My boss is going to kill me, and I'll deserve it."

"Surely the Queen isn't such a punishing spymaster," said Cullen mildly, waiting to see how much trust his brother was willing to give.

Darren glanced at Dmitri with a grimace but nodded. "She is. It's why I would have run instead of going back," he said. He ran a hand through his hair. "A woman, a mage, came to her about six months ago. They'd known each other during the Blight, and the woman's mother was Mythal's original host, Flemeth. Or so she called herself. The spirit had found her when she was young, a wronged woman looking for power to kill a husband. That was the sort of thing Mythal loved more than anything, so she killed the husband as promised, then twisted her to her own will once the possession began."

"You keep saying Mythal is dangerous and violent, but when I saw her she was kind. Regretful," said Cullen.

His brother raised his eyebrows. "Obviously I've never met Mythal personally, at least not knowingly, but the tales of Flemeth don't really paint her as kind. Power-hungry, ambitious, a survivor, but not kind. Certainly her daughter didn't think so," he said. "She'd spent time in the temples the Inquisition found, researching the ancient Pantheon. The elves blame the Dread Wolf for betraying them and tricking their so-called gods, but the Wolf was only a late addition to the lore. Where did he come from? Where did he get the power he used to lock some of the most powerful in the earth and kill the rest more permanently? If what Solas said can be believed, he didn't even want it."

"According to the woman, Dirthamen's temple, the temple of secrets, yielded the truth." Darren's voice took on the tones of a well-learned lecture. "Mythal was the one who began it all. She chafed under the leadership of her husband, wanting her own undisputed power. She also seduced a young man of the Elvhen court, Fen'Harel. He was hot-headed, passionate, and unhappy with the societal constraints of the Pantheon's rule, and she saw a way to both gain ascendancy and have her lover all in one fell swoop. All it would take was a small rebellion and a lot of murder to do it."

Darren snorted. "They called Mythal the mother, the protector, but she's mostly good at protecting herself. She gifted Fen'Harel with the spirit of the Wolf, filled his head with visions of glorious freedom, and set him loose to cause chaos, keeping her hands clean. From what you said, even Elgar'nan always believed that Fen'Harel instigated it, that he was the seducer. Yes, she did very well. What she didn't plan for was Tevinter."

His eyes flicked to where Dorian sat brooding, but he continued with only a slight pause. "Elvhen society collapsed and turned to her as she expected, especially after her husband was banished in one of the Wolf's more successful battles, but humanity warred with them too soon. Without the Pantheon's united leadership, the elves were utterly routed, and Fen'Harel made the poor choice to try to ally with the magisters to save the few, including his lover. A trust which the Imperium almost immediately betrayed. They destroyed her body, but her spirit fled into the human woman. Fen'Harel wasn't so lucky, and was lost in the Fade when Arlathan itself was thrown into it by the combined power of the magisters.

"Ever since she's been biding her time, trying to steer history to a point where she could have the power she wanted, even if it wasn't as an elf. She birthed daughters and possessed them in turn, extending her life indefinitely. She aided Andraste, planning to possess her once she'd gained ascendancy over Thedas, but Tevinter stopped her again, unknowingly, when they burned her. Hundreds of other wars, big and small, all in service to her goals. None succeeded. But during the Blight she convinced her daughter to perform a magical ritual with the King, one of the effects being the return of Fen'Harel from the Fade.

"Morrigan thinks their original plan was to simply unlock the Fade completely, bringing Arlathan back into our world to restore the elves, but Corypheus betrayed them for his own ambitions."

Cassandra gasped, and Cullen almost did as well. Morrigan was the daughter? She'd been helpful during the war, no doubt about it, but he'd never trusted her. She was unpredictable and ruthless. _Like mother like daughter?_ But he had to admit she didn't directly lie very often.

"Yes, Corypheus was working with them," said Darren, misinterpreting their surprise. "But in a way, this was better for them, as long as they could find another talisman. Flemeth turned herself to stone rather than fade to dust when Mythal abandoned her, including the necklace she wore. Likely the last revenge of whatever remained of the original woman. We thought one of them might go after another, and I was supposed to make sure Solas, at least, didn't."

He looked at Cullen ruefully. "Maybe I should have told you what was going on earlier. But I was so convinced I could handle it on my own, without your help. Obviously another failure. And the Inquisitor carries almost as much power as Andraste did, and soon Mythal will control her and have her old lover, just as she always wanted. All we'll have to do is let her rule us all." He paused. "Of course, all of this is Morrigan's speculation. But based on what happened here, and the way Solas sacrificed his men and abandoned us, I'd say she might be on to something."

Cullen wanted to doubt more than anything, but it made all too much sense. Ellana had even admitted the plan of possession to him. But she thought it was going to save her. She thought Solas loved her alone. Maker's breath, no wonder the elf had left him behind. Cullen had promised to kill him if he did exactly what he was planning on doing.

He frowned, considering. Solas did love Ellana. That was a thing that Cullen had never doubted, not once. Even in the dream he'd been completely focused on her. He'd given in to what she wanted. Surely the plan didn't require that much performance. "Solas saved me twice. He healed you. He pointed Cassandra here to retrieve us all," he said. "Why do any of that if he just wants to give Mythal power?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" asked Darren impatiently. "I've seen a man cheerfully help a stranger load his goods into a wagon five minutes before he killed another one in an alley. There's no logic to evil, and no consistency to good. Maybe it was some strange penance. It doesn't mean he shouldn't be stopped."

_Or maybe there really is more of him left than I gave him credit for,_ thought Cullen, but he kept it to himself. He looked at them all. "You're right. We have to get back to Skyhold. Protecting Ellana is the priority." He looked at Darren. "But I don't think we can trust the Inquisition to give us the resources we need, even if it were safe to ask. Can Ferelden help?"

Dmitri stepped forward. "You've killed Vestalus. The Mortalitasi's influence will be weakened, and I can finally move against them openly. For that alone I would help you, Commander," he said. He looked at Cassandra with soft eyes and took her hand. "And for my friend, whom I love most dearly, and her cause, I would do even more. You'll have whatever ships, horses, or messengers you need."

"Thank you," she said. She pulled him into a hug, which he returned with strong arms. Cullen did his best to keep his hand away from his sword. "Maker watch over you," she added softly.

"And you," he answered against her shoulder. He stepped back and smiled at her with tear-bright eyes. "I'm glad to have seen you again. These weeks have been the return of a beautiful dream. And you've given Nevarra hope." His eyes shifted to take in Cullen. "Both of you have. I would trust no pair more to bring that hope to the rest of Thedas. You must succeed, for all of our sake."


	17. Three Wishes

The trip back to Skyhold seemed to take a perversely long time, but the one comfort was that Cassandra let him stay in her ship's quarters on the new journey. She protested being given a cabin at all, but not as strenuously as she could have. And though she was just as sick on the new crossing, at least Cullen got to hold her and whisper soothing words while she groaned. In the rare moments of calm waters, she even rubbed his back with a beautiful, aching softness that was the only thing that kept his worries at bay.

"What if we're too late?" he asked the first night, running his fingers through her hair.

"We will not be," she said firmly. She tucked herself in more tightly to his side. "Ellana was resolved to have you present, and she must be willing for it to succeed. Besides, we cannot make the ship go faster than it already is."

He chuckled despite himself. "You're always so practical. And smart, and deadly, and courageous, and absolutely breathtaking even when you're green around the edges."

"Don't remind me." She rebuffed his attempt to seek her mouth, so he settled for the corner of her arched eyebrow. It raised even higher. "I find it hard to believe you wish to… canoodle at a time like this."

"Well, as you said, we are stuck on this ship. With nowhere to go. Alone. And I've been very good for a very long time." She snorted, and he gave her a mock glare. "That was different. A training courtyard annex is simply where physical energy is dispelled after the sparring is over."

He'd used a lecturing tone that made her elbow him in the stomach. "Yes, I noticed you were full of energy."

"I still have some left," he said with a hopeful smile.

"I have no doubt. But not now," she said. She looked at him pleadingly. "Please. Can we not just be like this? For a time?"

"Of course," he said. "I'm sorry."

"As am I. It's just that the movement -" She broke off as the ship listed, and he rubbed her shoulder sympathetically.

"Why don't we strike a bargain? You continue to reassure me that everything will be fine when we reach Skyhold, and I'll tell you more about how you make being seasick look so appealing."

She smiled reluctantly when he kissed her temple. "I know what your plan is," she said. He tried to look innocent, but he could feel the smirk on his face rising unbidden. She nodded. "You think you will be charming and attentive and handsome and I will forget any thoughts of aiding my country."

His smirk faded. "I never said I wanted you to forget Nevarra. I just don't want you to forget me."

"That would be quite impossible," she said. "And the Inquisition is the more pressing matter for now. But I don't wish you to believe me decided to remain at Skyhold."

Practical and honest both. It shouldn't be possible for a woman to dash his rising hopes in a way that made him love her more, but she'd always been full of contradictions. He was still trying to think of something to say that didn't sound too supportive or too afraid when she added, "I am decided that I will not choose anything that takes me from you, however. Whatever we do, we will be together. If that is what you want."

"Oh, it's what I want," he said quickly. He grinned again, even more crookedly than before. "So was it my charm or my skilled tongue that tipped the balance in my favor?"

She blushed becomingly, but her eyes were serious when she looked at him. "It was when I believed you might never wake, and I knew I would never be complete again."

Tears pricked at his eyes, and he gathered her to him to kiss her in earnest. She let him, and they breathed each other in for some time. After unreality and Fade dreams and the crashing of the ancient past with the terrifying present, the solidity and unrelenting strength of this woman was everything he needed.

When he pulled away and smoothed his hands over her face, her mouth twitched just a little. "I would like to continue training you in the Nevarran style, though," she said. "You still have much to learn. After we save the world, of course."

He tucked her back to his side and kissed the top of her head. "After we save the world, I'm at your disposal, Princess."

* * *

During the times she was too ill to stand even his presence, his anxiety took him to pacing the ship, up and down and around until the crew was just barely polite when he crossed their paths. He knew he was a terrible shipmate and a worse captain, but his eyes constantly strayed to the looming shore and the hard day's ride that awaited them when they reached it. Solas was persuasive. Ellana was dying. She might not be able to wait.

Dorian caught up with him on one of his endless circles, and he slowed to match the mage's more deliberate gait. The Tevinter man had barely looked at him since Darren's declarations, and Cullen hadn't wanted to force him into conversation. Either Dorian did love him, and he was destined for disappointment, or he loved his brother, and his heart was already bruised. No matter which, Cullen couldn't think of anything to say to make the situation less awkward.

Luckily Dorian had never been known as the shy, retiring type. "So, when will Cassandra be recovered enough to duel me for your favor? My sword work is much improved after Nevarra, and I think I could give her a stiff challenge," he said lightly.

Cullen shot him a sideways look and tried to match his joking tone. "Perhaps you should try to catch her before she's recovered, then, if you want the duel to be long enough to be worthy of the name."

"You wound me with your lack of confidence, Commander," said Dorian. He fluttered a hand over his heart in mock agony. "I know both a low guard and a high guard now. I'm practically a master warrior."

"So when will you be applying for the front lines?"

"I may allow a few more weeks of practice before submitting my name. After all, I'm not to be trusted around soldiers," he said. His tone was still joking, but Cullen knew from his face they were moving into more serious territory. He stopped their walk and leaned on the railing at the rear of the boat, letting their words be caught by the wind and carried harmlessly to sea.

"I think you show remarkably good taste in them, actually," said Cullen gently.

Dorian smiled ruefully. "With any other man, I'd be certain he was speaking of himself. You, however, are much too noble for all that self-promotion," he said. "Will you be championing your brother to me?"

"Do I need to?"

"I suppose not," said Dorian. "I know he's a good man, despite, well, despite. But I spent a long time in Tevinter lying. Being lied to. 'It's a phase, Dorian.' 'You'll be so happy when you marry this lovely young woman, Dorian.' 'Grandchildren will solve it all, Dorian.'" The high-pitched, casual tone gave way to something darker. "All lies, each one. And in Skyhold I'd finally started to feel, well, not ordinary - a man as talented as I could never merely ordinary - but normal. Some men responded to me. Others didn't. We were behind closed doors for propriety, not for secrecy."

"You think Darren wanted you to hide again?"

"No." The mage's hands gripped the railing hard enough to crack the wood. "No, never that. But I thought…"

He trailed off and bowed his head. "Do you remember the heart-to-heart we had in your office all those weeks ago? Right after our lovely leaders laid their plans for world domination on your unsuspecting head?"

Cullen winced at the phrase, thoughts of a world domination that might even now be lurking always close at hand, but he nodded. "You said you'd never been in love."

"Yes. But that wasn't true. There was a man, once. In the Imperium, before I left. I never knew if he cared, not certainly, but I almost asked him to join me when I came to join you. I didn't," said Dorian. He shrugged his shoulders. "Cole told me once he would have said yes. But I wasn't normal then. I didn't even know it was possible to be it."

Cullen stayed silent, waiting for the man to find the rest of his words. Eventually Dorian spoke again. "And it never came again in Skyhold, that feeling, so I thought perhaps it was only a thing one only found once. If I'd missed my chance, I had only myself to blame, and my penance would at least make me Archon. But then Darren was there." His voice lowered so much that Cullen had to strain to hear him. "He wasn't wrong about the timing of my inconvenient feelings. It wasn't in your office. It was in the tavern that night. I'd promised to bring interesting people to the party, but no one could ever have been more interesting than that man."

"A Rutherford trait," said Cullen, and Dorian chuckled.

His face darkened. "But it was a pose. Another lie. At least the women who want to use me for their own advantage in Tevinter have the decency not to trick me into caring for them."

"It wasn't a trick. I saw his face."

"Ah, you mean it didn't end as a trick. All postures will eventually become truths, if held long enough, Commander. But that doesn't negate the falsity of their creation."

"Stop it," said Cullen. "I know you don't believe that. Truth is truth, no matter when it becomes understood." He ran a hand through his hair and decided it was time to remove the velvet glove. "I think you're doing this to make things easier for you."

"What do you mean?" asked Dorian. His voice sounded only mildly interested, but it was threaded with anger.

"Easier to go back to Tevinter and marry some Imperial noblewoman. Become Archon. Avoid the messy work of being in love with another person, one with flaws. We're all flawed, Dorian. Yes, even you," Cullen added at the mage's sharp look. "If Darren was a liar and a scoundrel, it won't be so difficult to leave him behind. You'll abandon an unworthy man, not turn your back on a heartsick lover."

Dorian sighed and rubbed his temple. "It's been hard enough to get them to accept me without overt perversions. A Fereldan lover even of the standard gender would be a difficulty. This might be impossible."

"If anyone can do impossible, it's Dorian Pavus. I should know. He's told me that himself dozens of times," said Cullen. He put a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "My brother loves you. I've seen that look on all of my siblings' faces, and my own. I know that makes things more difficult for you. Love does. But it's worth all the political power in the world to hold it."

"Is that what you've been doing in the Seeker's cabin since we shoved off?" asked Dorian with a weak smile. "Giving her that same speech?"

Cullen grinned but said nothing.

The boat rocked beneath them for a time, the creaking beams singing their usual song. Eventually Dorian shrugged. "I'll consider your words," he said. He looked at Cullen steadily. "There was one thing your brother was wrong about, though I must take the blame for his assumption. There was never a time where I felt anything other than friendship for you, Commander. You're an attractive man, to be sure, but I don't spend my time on the fish in the next pond when there are so many delightful catches to be had right in front of me."

"Thank you. I think," said Cullen. "But what do you mean you're to blame for it?"

The mage flushed slightly. "When he's jealous, he's very… attentive. In some things. And you were a reliable source of that jealousy. I may have allowed an incorrect impression to form."

Cullen rolled his eyes. "Wonderful."

"It was very much worth it, if that helps," said Dorian, still flushing but grinning wickedly. His smile fell. "I think it may have also been a way of scaring him off. Keeping him distant. Guarding my own feelings."

He laughed suddenly, a harsh sound in the quiet evening. "I did a poor job of it. Of it all, I think. But I would be inconsolable if my incautious behavior cost me a friendship," he said. "I have so few friends. The loss of even one would devastate me."

"Save your devastation for another time," said Cullen. "I don't have so many friends to spare myself. And you make my brother happy." He frowned. "Or you did. I'm not sure of the rules there, being friends with someone who rejects a sibling. I'll ask Varric when we get back to Skyhold."

He was still thinking when Dorian walked away, shaking his head.

* * *

There was only one conversation left to have, and Cullen was hardly surprised when his brother ambushed him coming out of the cabin a half a day away from port. He sighed and led him up to the deck, where they settled against the same railing as he and Dorian had before. "I used to like sea voyages," he muttered.

"We need to talk about what to do when we get to Skyhold," said Darren without preamble.

Cullen leaned against the rail. "Very well," he said. "If Solas isn't there, we'll immediately send word to Ferelden to help us search. If he is there, but they haven't gone through with it yet, we'll probe for more information before continuing. If they've already -"

"You talked to Dorian," interrupted Darren. "What did you say to him."

And there was the second volley. "This is nothing to do with me, Darren."

"You're my brother. You're his friend. Seems like you're an interested party to me."

The frustration in his voice nearly broke Cullen's resolve. "I am. Interested in staying out of it. You need to talk to him. Not me."

Darren pounded his fist on the rail. "I tried. You heard me try. I told him everything I have to say. It wasn't enough. You were my last hope," he said. He scowled. "He'll listen to you at least."

"He's not in love with me," said Cullen, rubbing his forehead. "He's in love with you. But you took him by surprise. You hurt him. He's not exactly experienced in this. Give it time."

"Easy for you to say. You don't need any time to make your lady love you. And it's not like this happens to me every day, either," said Darren. He turned away and looked across the waves. "I don't know what to do. I don't have the right words to convince him I'm worth listening to, much less worth staying with. But you wouldn't know anything about that. Your romantic troubles have always come from the outside, from worrying about what Cassandra might do for the greater good. You've never had to worry that she wouldn't have you on your own merits."

Cullen winced. "No. That's not true. When we first… When I first learned about her feelings, I fumbled it. Very badly. It took time to re-earn her trust. Worthwhile, rewarding time, but still time."

"So what did you do?" asked Darren. He still stared over the water, but his voice was desperately curious.

"I wrote her a love story. Ours," said Cullen. He felt heat on his cheeks, but he tried to ignore it. "I gave it to her and prayed she would understand it. Fortunately she did."

Darren turned back to him with narrowed eyes. "Of course you did. Of course you wrote a fucking love story for one of the most desirable, powerful, highly born women in the world and made her fall at your feet. Why would that be surprising?" he said. "Maker, if you weren't my brother I would really hate you. Sometimes it's still a near thing."

Cullen's mouth dropped. "What?"

"Even when we were kids you were always the golden child. Never in trouble, never shirking work, always obedient. You left for the Templars and our parents still couldn't stop talking about you. 'Cullen never did this or that,'" said Darren in exactly the same high-pitched voice Dorian had used for his own recitations of the past. Cullen smiled against his will, which turned out to be exactly the wrong move. Darren scowled. "Easy for you to laugh at it."

_You reminded me of Dorian_ seemed like an even worse response than the laughing, so Cullen said nothing.

Eventually Darren shook his head. "It would be one thing if it was just kid stuff. But now? You might be the most celebrated man in the world. Commander of the Inquisition. Victor of several wars. Paragon of the Templars. First advisor to a holy woman. Respected by your allies and enemies. I lived at Skyhold for weeks and barely heard a cross word about you, even with people who didn't know we were related. And even your romantic rivals give way to you," he said bitterly. "I happen to know that Dmitri Van Markham is a ruthless leader, a man who's done more than his fair share of intimidation and elimination of his enemies, and he gave up a large portion of his ambitions, let a woman he loved walk away from him, because you were just so damn charming and heroic."

"He did that for Cassandra," Cullen protested, but Darren wasn't listening.

"And that's just the political stuff. Once people at Skyhold did find out we were related, all I got was, 'Can you introduce me?' The barmaids wanted me to get you into the tavern, let them flirt a little. They were willing to risk the wrath of Cassandra for it, which is no small risk. And at the ball you were easily the most admired man in the room," he said. "People couldn't stop looking at you."

He'd said "people", but the look in his eyes was too pointed for generalities. "Dorian seemed more interested in flirting with you, as I recall."

"I didn't say anything about Dorian," said Darren stubbornly, and Cullen suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm just saying that it's not exactly easy being the little brother of the only perfect man that's ever existed."

"I'm not perfect. Not in the least. Cassandra knows that better than anyone," said Cullen. "I work every day to deserve her."

"Well then, Maker be praised you found the one person in Thedas not blinded by your virtues," said Darren. "You know, I became a spy because of you. Figured if I was going to be living in someone's shadow, invisibly, I should at least do good with it."

Okay, that was enough. He turned and grabbed Darren by the shoulders. "You're Darren Rutherford. You joined the Fereldan army too young, and you still survived. You were with our family during the Blight. You protected them. Not me. When the time counted, you were the son they needed. When our parents told you to save Mia and Alice, you did. Against overwhelming odds," he said. When Darren gave him a puzzled look, he added, "I asked some of your comrades. They told me. You've done things no man should have to do, and you're still here. And now you're trusted by the rulers of Ferelden themselves. You were given a dangerous, solo mission that you performed so well that none of us ever even suspected your true purpose. Not even your lover. More importantly, you knew when to stop lying and tell the truth, which is a rare skill.

"You're attractive and charismatic, and more than one person asked me why the family humor seemed to skip over me and into you. You're more comfortable in your own skin than anyone I know, and you could charm your way out of a room of Qunari without blinking. There is nothing about you that doesn't seem perfect."

Darren started to protest, but Cullen shook him. "It's easy to look perfect from far away. But no one is. I'm certainly not. I judge too harshly. I doubt too much. I place too much trust in my superiors. People have died from my mistakes. They probably still will, and I have nightmares about those failures. Any respect I have came at a heavy price. Any admiration I gain is from reputation, not from personality. Cassandra is the only woman who's ever really loved me, and that's fine because she's the only one I'll ever need, but it's hardly a recommendation of my romantic skills.

"More importantly, you're only saying this because you're worried and heartsore, and I understand that. I do. But pretending I'm somehow the cause of your woes is only a way to get around the fact that you know you need to go to him, again, and risk another humiliation. And another, and another, until all hope is lost, or everything is won," said Cullen. "I'll shield you from anything in my power, but I can't fight this for you. Dorian seemed willing to listen. Talk to him again."

"Another rousing speech to the troops from Commander Rutherford," said Darren, but there was a slight smile on his face before he sighed. "I'm sorry. I know what happened with you at Kinloch. And Kirkwall. It know it wasn't always easy." He paused. "And I'm sorry I deceived you."

"You were doing your job. You're my brother. You're forgiven," said Cullen, and that was that. "But you realize you never actually apologized to Dorian in your speech."

Darren frowned. "Yes I did." An expression of concentration crossed his face, then a dawning horror. "Oh Maker, I didn't."

"No," said Cullen. "And he's been trying not to watch us for at least ten minutes, so perhaps this would be a good time to try it." Dorian was lurking at midship with a studied casualness that wouldn't have fooled a child, the tension in his shoulders alone enough to make Cullen's ache in sympathy.

His brother's expression turned to mild panic. "What, now?"

"We're going to hit landfall soon. We'll be riding hard, then encountering who knows what," said Cullen. He finally let Darren go with a final shake. "Don't waste the time. Find whatever his love story is, give it to him and make him fall at your feet."

Darren crooked a grin. "I'm not sure it's decent to give him that here on the deck."

Cullen glared, and Darren chuckled as he walked away. Cullen watched for a time, just long enough to see the moment when the mage's hands lifted hesitantly to Darren's face and his brother breathed out a shaky laugh. The sun was still just cresting the horizon, and it shone around and between them, melting them into a single silhouette as their lips met in a quiet rush.

Cullen slipped back, smiling, and headed below decks to his lady. He might not have anything to apologize for, at least not this time, but he was in the mood to pretend he did.

* * *

They landed a few hours later, internal tension gone but the external pressure rising around them. As the mounts were readied, Cassandra pulled him aside. On solid ground she was back to her usual indomitable self, and he couldn't resist stroking her palm through her glove while she spoke.

"I have been thinking, and we must be prepared for the worst," she said. He frowned, but she pressed on. "I know you don't wish to think of it, and neither do I, but it does no good to plan a campaign around hopes."

"You're right," he said, sighing. "What are you thinking?"

"If Ellana does hold Mythal, and not safely, I will attempt to take this talisman you spoke of. Remove it from her and break the connection."

"No," he said. "It's too dangerous. She'll just take you over and that seems to hurt non-mages. It almost killed me to hold it, and that was with Solas as an ally. And Mythal. If they're both against you, you'll never survive."

Cassandra shook her head. "Seekers cannot be possessed. I will be safe from whatever incursion affected you," she said, squeezing his hand. "Moreover, no one else will be. And Mythal and Solas will be focused on convincing you, or guarding from you if that's how things progress. They believe me to be committed to the survival of the Inquisition at any price."

The pain in her eyes scored his heart, and he folded her in his arms. "It won't come to that. The Inquisition will survive." Something built by her, to do good. Cassandra, not Pentaghast.

"It's only worthy of survival if it does no harm," she said. "We cannot protect a thing simply because it's mine."

"But I'm yours. Does that mean we can't protect me?" he asked lightly.

She huffed a breath and kissed him, and he relaxed into its feelings. Home. Safety. Things would be okay as long as they were together.

Dmitri's man signaled the readiness of their mounts, and they broke apart to ready themselves in turn. Darren and Dorian were already swinging up onto their horses, focused and ready, and when Cullen led them to the mountain pass that would take them to the hold, they followed.

* * *

Despite his hopes, Cullen had half-expected to find Skyhold in ruins when they arrived, like Adamant after the siege. It was somehow more terrifying to see the absolute normality of the place. The guards at the gates were obviously surprised to see them, but they saluted and welcomed them exactly like always. Cullen glanced at Cassandra as they rode to the stables. He hadn't prepared himself to act as though there wasn't an emergency happening all around them.

Fortunately she had. She slid off her mount and asked very naturally where the Inquisitor was. The Great Hall, the horsemaster said, and that was so normal Cullen could hardly stand it.

Darren and Dorian were also chatting and flirting and teasing away, exactly as if no time had passed, and Cullen might have started to wonder if it had all been a dream, or if they were all under a demonic influence now, if he hadn't seen the way Darren's hand continually rechecked the tie of his sword.

They took the steps up to the Hall proper as quickly as they dared, and when they threw open the doors the Hall was full of people. Varric and Bull shouted a slightly confused greeting, though they seemed pleased to see them, but Cullen's focus was on the throne.

Ellana sat regally, rendering a judgment, and Josephine and Leliana flanked her. Solas leaned against a wall to the side, watching intently. When the room stirred to allow the four travelers passage, the elf turned to look, and the flicker of fear in his eyes and the new tension on his shoulders told Cullen that he, at least, wasn't in the cloud of unreality that had seemed to settle around the rest of the world.

Cullen's gaze moved back to the Inquisitor. She looked the same as he remembered, thin and pale, with a green glow on her hand that rose and fell with each breath.

Ellana raised her eyes to them curiously before a smile lit her face. "Cassandra! Cullen! Dorian! I'm so glad you're back," she said. She announced her judgment for the woman in front of her - a few days of labor fortifying the fortress's walls - then leaned forward with another grin after she was led away. "Skyhold hasn't been the same without you."

Cullen felt his mouth moving in response, in thanks, but his eyes only saw one thing - the dull gleam of golden scales that swung gently from her neck.


	18. Wicked Witches

"How was your trip from Nevarra?" asked Ellana when none of them spoke. There was nothing but sincerity on her face and in her voice.

"Not as fast as we would have liked," said Cassandra. "But it is good to be home."

Josephine stepped forward to draw the Seeker into a hug, which was repeated with Dorian, Cullen and even Darren. Her smile was wide enough to split her face. "I heard wonderful reports of your diplomatic efforts. Prince Dmitri's retainers have already inquired about a marital alliance. Truly exemplary work from you all."

"The Inquisitor is much improved also, as you can see," said Leliana quietly. She hadn't moved, watching them with hooded eyes from behind the throne. "Her cold has quite passed her by."

"I only needed my healer back," said Ellana, grinning at Solas. "He always makes me better."

Solas smiled in return but said nothing. When she held out her hands, he crossed to the throne and pulled her to her feet. Ellana kissed him swiftly, then turned back to the rest of them. "Let's talk. Like old times. Vivienne isn't here, and Blackwall is in Amaranthine with the Wardens, but the rest of us can catch up. Your office, Josephine?"

Cullen didn't like it, going into an enclosed space with no guards. No backup in case things went wrong. On the other hand, he could hardly learn what he needed to know in front of a hall of people. He'd been studying her face, and she seemed exactly as usual. Maybe more energetic, and definitely healthier, but there was no specter of evil about her. He cut a sideways look at Darren, who wore a polite smile. But as soon as Cullen's eyes swept over him, a slight grimace took its place, almost too fast to see, and Cullen knew he was ready to fight.

Another reason a less public place was better. If Darren attacked her out here, it was going to be a slaughter.

Varric went to round up the missing members of the inner circle, and Bull disappeared into the wine cellar with a large sack. Cullen made to follow the Inquisitor into the office when Leliana pulled him aside. "I'm glad you've all returned safely, Commander. I'd begun to fear the worst. Traitors in the ranks shouldn't be taken lightly."

Her gaze moved seemingly at random across the crowd, lighting first on Darren before moving to Solas. Her face didn't change, and Cullen strove to match her even expression. "You knew?" he asked.

"Cassandra's maid is one of my best agents. She decided the risks of allowing him to continue were outweighed by the rewards of knowledge. It seems she was correct," she said. "And I'm pleased you left her in Nevarra. Dmitri desires absolute power, and those who desire such things can be useful but always bear watching."

Double meanings and hidden words. Leliana was never not playing, never not weaving a web around every person she met. Why couldn't she just have a normal conversation? He couldn't match her layers, but he would try. "Morrigan visited Queen Elissa a few months ago, looking for help from an old friend. I'm surprised she didn't come to you as well."

Leliana laughed. "She would have received no help from me. If she had come, seeking something dark, some revenge for an old pain, some raking up of past wrongs, I would only have given her pretty words, not her heart's desire. Revenge is a fool's game. A person does not break a hammer simply because it once injured her thumb. She simply takes more care to wield it correctly," she said. She stared through the doorway at the gathering party. "And with a powerful enough tool, you can re-build the world."

* * *

The assembled group was half-awkward - namely, the half who had any idea what was happening. Bull, Varric, Sera, Josephine and Ellana carried the conversation while the rest watched each other. Ellana made it a point to engage the recently returned members, clapping excitedly at Darren and Dorian's newly acknowledged intimacy. Josephine was less sanguine and muttered about Imperial repercussions, rifling through her files until Leliana led her gently away from the desk.

Cullen stayed near Cassandra, settling next to her on the couch, though whether to protect or be protected he would never know. Ellana was pleased to see their own closeness restored, and she led a round of teasing that was capped by Sera and Varric's dramatic re-enactment of the two warriors sparring, then falling passionately into each other's arms. It was close enough to the truth that Cullen couldn't stop a blush, which seemed to placate some of Bull's suspicions of their stiff demeanors. The former Qunari spy was no fool.

When they turned back to Dorian to ask for embarrassing details about his own courtship, Cole sat next to Cullen on the couch. The spirit was pale, his ragged hat covering even more of his face than usual. "Hello, Cole. Did you come back with Solas?" asked Cullen.

"Yes. It was so quiet."

Cullen lowered his voice. "And how is the Inquisitor?"

The boy looked up at him miserably. "I can't hear her anymore. I don't know when she's hurting," he said. His hands twisted together cruelly, grinding bone against bone. "How can I help if I cannot hear? Who will smooth away the fears that come in the night? Maybe she's in pain. Maybe I'm the one who hurt her. Silent secrets in shadows that should not have been spoken."

"Cole," said a voice. They both twisted their heads to see the Inquisitor standing over them. She smiled and touched Cole's shoulder. "You didn't hurt me. But you don't have to stay, if you don't want to."

Cullen stared at her in shock, but Cole was already shaking his head in quick little jerks. "Where would I go? No one will remember me if you don't."

"Then stay, of course," she said. "Right now Solas wants to speak with you."

Cole hopped to his feet and a dagger flashed reflexively in his hand before it slid back up into his sleeve. As soon as he was gone, Ellana took his place next to Cullen. "Cullen, you're so silent. Aren't you happy to be home?"

"Who are you?" No more dissembling. No more laughter. He didn't have the patience for it.

"I'm Ellana Lavellan. Former First of her Clan, current Inquisitor, and the woman who saved your life," she said. Her smile sharpened as she looked past him to Cassandra. "Possibly twice."

His eyes dipped to the talisman around her neck. "Maybe you are all of those things. But who else are you?" he asked. Darren was watching them as he told a lewd story to Josephine, and Cullen shook his head slightly.

The Inquisitor sighed. "You already know. I don't need to say it. But it isn't what you fear. I'm still me. She just healed me. She takes the power my body can't hold safely and keeps it apart. My mind stays my own," she said. "It's like with the Well. It gave me voices that tell me what I need to know. Hers is just clearer."

"Then what does she get out of it?"

"Him," she said, nodding at Solas. He made to stand, but she waved him off. "I love Solas. She loves Fen'Harel. And I'm there for them both."

He must have looked unconvinced because she took his hand between her own. They were so small around his, even with the glow, even with the new strength cording through them. "Cullen. It's me. I'm your friend, and I'm alive. I'm healthy again. Be happy for me?" Her smile was gone, but her eyes were hopeful.

Cullen softened and turned his hand over to grip hers. "I am happy for you. I wanted nothing more for you than your life."

Tears formed in her eyes, and she was leaning to envelop him in a hug when Cassandra's voice cut in, smooth and controlled. "Prove that your mind is your own, Inquisitor. Cole cannot hear you. Solas convinced you not to wait for Cullen. Neither of these things inspire my confidence."

The rest of the room had fallen silent, Cullen realized, watching them with various degrees of confusion and aggression. But he focused on Ellana, whose hand had gone still in his. "Cassandra," she said with a half smile. "A Seeker of Truth even now. The centuries change but the Inquisition remains."

"Please, Ellana," said Dorian. His face was vulnerable with hope and terrible with fear.

She looked at him, then pulled her hands back to herself. "I went with you to confront your father in Redcliffe. You wanted to leave, but I told you to stay, to talk to him, or you would regret it. And you did, and now you're in love and I couldn't be happier for you. Josephine is in a feud with a Free Marcher merchant who sells ink because she wants the kind that doesn't run and he continues to ship us the wrong sort, only he's well-connected politically, so she can't take away his contract. Varric and I wrote a few chapters of a love serial one night when we were both drunk, about two Dalish elves in the big city, and it was absolutely terrible."

She stood and began to pace. Solas gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles whitened, watching her move. "We played Wicked Grace one night and you, Cullen, lost all of your clothes in a very ill-advised bet. Cassandra, you couldn't keep your eyes to yourself, and Varric was hard-pressed to keep chapters of _Swords and Shields_ coming fast enough to satisfy you," she said. She whirled around to face them with fire in her eyes. "I am your friend. I am your Inquisitor, and I remember all of you. Every piece of every memory. Every time we fought, every time we laughed and screamed and bled together. I've loved you all. The only question is, do you trust me or not?"

Darren's jaw was still tight and Solas's gaze never wavered, but the rest of them dropped their eyes. Even Bull, even Sera, and especially Cole. Her anger was like a physical thing coursing through the room, shaking them like leaves on a wind-stirred tree. Even meeting each others' gaze was an effort beyond them all. She was their leader, and she didn't think they believed in her. Cullen had done that to her, and his shame threatened to overwhelm him.

He lifted his eyes slowly, an apology on his lips, when she continued. "Because if you don't trust me, you should leave."

Cullen's stomach clenched into a knot. First the offer to Cole, now the threat to all of them. Ellana never wanted anyone to leave. She'd even saved Blackwall, a man she barely knew, to keep this new family together. The bond of the Inquisition was the most important thing in the world to her. And what had she really told them in her flaming speech? Just memories. Things they all already knew. They would have been easy for Mythal to find, or for Solas to tell.

No one else moved, but he stood in a quick motion and crossed to where she waited. "We don't want to leave, Ellana. You've always had our trust. I'm your Commander, and I'll be it until the end," he said. He rubbed her arms as she smiled gratefully. He took a breath and continued. "Which reminds me, I spoke to Captain Rylan on the way in. She told me they've had some issues with wildlife up in the mountains. Nothing serious, but I'd like to take a personal look."

He looked at her carefully. "Would you mind if I went on patrol?"

When she nodded agreement with no flicker of recognition in her eyes, no concerns of any kind, he smiled. Without warning, he grasped the scales around her neck and pulled as hard as he could.

* * *

Everything exploded at once. Ellana snarled and shoved him away at the same time his shoulder wrenched, the necklace resisting his movement. The talisman glowed under his fingers, and he lost his grip as he fell away from her and hit the floor. Maker but she was strong, stronger than she'd ever been. Solas sprang to his feet and advanced, magic crackling around his hands and the staff he held. A shimmering purple wall fell around them both, cutting them off from the rest of the room. Another barrier flew over the doors, trapping them in. Growls and curses filled the room as aggression spiked through them all.

Darren drew his sword and advanced, only to be yanked back by Iron Bull's massive hand. Dorian yelped and jumped on the Qunari, trying to block him from drawing the axe he always carried. Varric only stared, dumbfounded, but Sera had her bow drawn already. "Who do I shoot? Does someone need to get shot?" she yelled. The tip of her arrow waved at each of them in turn, but no one answered her.

Cassandra moved to stand over him, blocking him from Ellana's eyesight and spells. _No,_ _Mythal_ , he thought dully. There was no Ellana left in this woman. Only a life learned by rote, facts rattled off like the lines in a play that would always be performed and never again be true.

He met Solas's eyes briefly and saw pity and sorrow in them for a moment before the feral rage returned. Cullen had been right, there was something of him remaining. He wasn't all Wolf, but he was enough to kill them, if he chose to. Cullen should have been more careful. He should have thought instead of acted. He breathed heavily from his place on the flagstones and prayed to the Maker for help.

Instead, Mythal held up her hand, still glowing, and silenced the room with a resounding clap of the Fade. It wasn't a rift, exactly, but they all felt the dull thud of spirits hitting the Veil, scrambling and clawing to cross into the world.

Bull paled and stopped struggling, though he kept a grip on Darren. "Boss, what are you doing?"

She ignored him. "That was very foolish of you. I nearly shattered your mind once without intention. Do you think you would have survived a second attempt?"

"I promised her," he growled. "I promised her she wouldn't be lost."

"She isn't," said Mythal. "She survives. Just as I promised. I don't lie."

"You just lied a half dozen times," said Cassandra. "Possibly more."

"Details only. Ellana remains. Her voice is clear. She wants me to keep you all alive. I was merely trying to accomplish that goal," said the elven woman. Ellana's pale eyes flashed, set in a face that was somehow deadlier than it had ever been. "I must admit I would like to spare your lives as well. I've gained respect for each one of you over the last year. You would make a strong court. A new Pantheon for a new age."

Dorian laughed harshly. "A Tevinter mage in an Elvhen court would certainly count as a new age."

"Little Dorian," she said, chuckling. "You know so little about your own history for all you want to restore it."

"Okay," said Sera. "Someone better fucking tell me what is going on right now, yeah? Why is Her Glowiness saying all this spooky shit? She hasn't done that ever, not once. Even when she was still all Andraste-blessed. This is too weird." She shivered, not something to be done lightly while a bowstring was still drawn.

"Solas is possessed by an ancient elf. Now the Inquisitor is possessed by his lover, another ancient elf. And she doesn't seem to want us to just go and plant a tree somewhere for the Dalish after she's done," said Darren.

"That's bloody ridiculous."

Varric's eyes were narrowed to slits, but his voice was casual. "Wouldn't be the most ridiculous thing we've seen. Might not even crack the top ten. Or am I the only one who remembers that lovely little trip into the Fade?"

"So what does she want?" asked Bull. "And, lady, I'll just say right now that if it involves opening up the Fade, you can find another guy for your Pantheon."

Mythal smiled slightly. "No. The power to do that is beyond even me. The anchor is only a portion of Fen'Harel's power. Corypheus destroyed the rest. There's just enough left for tastes of the other side." She raised her hand and let the glow expand out to bathe the room in a green glow. The sounds of the spirits muted underneath other voices, speaking in strange accents. Elvhen, but not. They sounded like Abelas but using a language Cullen couldn't understand.

Until one cried out, "Fen'Harel!" in a worshipful tone, and silence fell again. But this was the silence of thousands holding their breaths. Solas shifted and closed his eyes. A curl of power arced out from the tip of his staff and the silence became more natural again.

"It's easier to find the past here," said Mythal conversationally. "This was his temple."

"Fortress," said Solas. "I was a general. Not a god."

Mythal turned to him with a soft smile. "You were both, my love," she said, caressing the side of his face with the tip of her finger. "There was none better."

A look of shame passed across his face, but she didn't seem to notice. "As to what I want, I've told you. A new age. Peace for this world, and a rule of it that will span generations. Another Arlathan. A better one," she said. "You can all help with that. Negotiations move more quickly with true power behind them."

Cullen rolled and stood. "No," he said firmly.

"No?" asked Mythal. "It's what you wanted. I can simply make it happen more quickly."

"We wanted a united word, not a cowering one."

She laughed. "Perhaps that is what you wanted, Commander," she said. "But one of your comrades, at least, does not agree."

Cullen gaped as Leliana crossed the room and through the barrier to stand beside the elves. "You can't support this," he said.

"The Maker works mysteriously," she said. "I thought for a time He wanted our deaths. Now I know He demands our lives. Fully. How long has The Chantry excluded and controlled those we did not deem worthy of His love? Mages. Elves. Is it any wonder His new messenger was an elven mage? The new Divine wants this world to continue as it was. I want it to continue as it has never been."

Her eyes sought Josephine, who looked ashen and terrified. "I believed the Maker spoke to me once. I believed I had carried out my purpose in the Blight. But my purpose is much greater still. So yes. I do support this. It is hope."

"It's an abomination," spat Cassandra.

"I agree," said Cullen. "An Elvhen spirit can't speak for the Maker. And she won't be content with peace. She'll only be content with absolute devotion. That won't come without blood."

The mood of the room grew darker, somehow, and the sounds of spirits creaking into the Veil returned. Bull looked around him warily, and Sera crowded in closer to the rest of them. Cole wavered and flashed around them, noises of distress issuing from his throat.

Mythal drew herself up and glared at him with cold hatred. Cullen's heart squeezed, and he had to remind himself that it was Ellana's face, but she wasn't the one who hated him. Mythal didn't move, but he felt her focus come closer to him, circling dangerously. He forced himself to meet her eyes.

"I had such hopes for you," she said. "Ellana demanded your rescue, but it wasn't unwelcome after I saw the shape of your mind. A strong man who had no distaste for following a woman. Who, in fact, preferred it. You've followed women without shame all your life. Your mother. Your sister. A Knight-Commander. A Viscountess. The Inquisitor. Even your lover. Such a thing is a rarity even among humans, and almost unheard of among my people. Only Fen'Harel was able to discover this capacity inside of himself."

She smiled at the man next to her, who took her hand and squeezed it. There was no more shame on his face, only power and purpose. "You are worthy to be followed, my love."

She nodded regally and her face fell into anger again. "But not to the Commander. A man will always show his true nature in the end. When a woman with undeniable power over him exists, power he cannot ever hope to overthrow, he will never submit. My husband was the same, always. And I deserved more," she said. "Now I shall have it. And you will have your world. Will you truly not take this offering, my friend?"

"I'm not your friend. Ellana would never do this," he said. "I follow her. She's deserving. You are nothing but a thief, a rapist of souls, and there's nothing deserving about that."

Fen'Harel snarled and flung a blot of electricity through the barrier, arcing it into Cullen's chest and driving him to his knees. The muscles in his body spasmed while his friends pulled closer, weapons readied once more. Dorian's magic trickled into him, releasing the overwhelming tightness, and he threw the mage a grateful look before focusing back on the now furious trio behind the barrier.

Cassandra drew her sword in a slow, deliberate movement. "Do not do that again," she said. It was directed at Fen'Harel, but her eyes were only on Mythal.

"I do what I must," she said. "And so I ask one more time. Who will serve? And who will not? The answer will determine how much more is done, before the end."


	19. Big Bad Wolves

An arrow shattered against the shimmering barrier that separated the two groups, making everyone jump.

Everyone but one. "Just checking," said Sera. She drew another arrow smoothly and nocked it. "Andraste's ass, you're worse than a noble. At least when they stomp all over some poor sod, they leave him his mind."

Mythal sighed. "It seems Elgar'nan wasn't entirely wrong. Our people truly have fallen into unworthiness in our long absence."

Sera barked a laugh. "I'm not one of yours, crazy elfy lady."

"Precisely," answered Mythal. She stretched out her unmarked hand in a casual gesture and the bow in Sera's hands burst into flames. She yelped and dropped it as Bull stepped in front of her with a growl. Mythal hardly seemed to notice, staring at her hand in bemusement. "That was supposed to be your head," she murmured.

Hope rose in Cullen's heart, and he got to his feet alongside it, looking for signs of Ellana breaking through. Cassandra, in contrast, was focused on the Nightingale. "This is not what the Inquisition is for, Leliana," she said slowly.

"Isn't it? To fix the world?"

"No," said Cassandra. "To set it to rights, not to tinker with it until it suits our own desires. The Maker did not set us to this task to dominate." She took a step closer to the barrier, and Cullen followed her instinctively, waving the rest of them back when Solas's grip tightened on his staff.

"Perhaps he should have," said Leliana. "You were a good Right Hand, Cassandra. Steady. Stalwart. Safe. You performed the routine tasks and never took a risk. Right hands don't seize opportunities. But I do. This is a chance." She turned to Josephine, and her face softened. "Josie. This is what we wanted. All those nights we dreamed of a Thedas at peace. No more hard futures to fear. Please trust me."

Mythal nodded approval when the Antivan woman nodded slowly. "But the cost," she said, a hint of a question in the words. "I cannot believe you would pay it with Ellana's life."

Frustration flashed across the Orlesian's face, swiftly replaced by anger when Cassandra added, "Justinia would be ashamed of you for this."

Leliana hissed and stepped forward involuntarily. "You know nothing of what Justina would think, of me or of any other. I was her friend long before she was Divine."

"I may not have shared her bed, but that doesn't mean we shared nothing at all."

An animal sound tore from Leliana's throat as the rest of the room gasped, and before Cullen could even think to stop her the Nightingale stepped forward again and struck Cassandra across the face. Cullen wondered briefly that there was no flash of metal in her hand, no hint of the steel that she always wore in her sleeves, but it didn't matter because Cassandra was ready for something altogether different. She gripped Leliana's waiting wrist in a strong hand, grabbing him with the other, then yanked them both stepped through the barrier into enemy territory.

Cullen raised his sword quickly, cursing the fact he didn't have his shield as he caught another burst of electricity on the blade. It danced over his skin, but missed anything that would carry it through his body. He gritted his teeth and prepared for another assault, but it never came. Leliana's righteous fervor had vanished into her usual cool calculation, and he saw with relief that she was flanking him to aid, not to injure. She threw a dagger at Mythal, distracting her just long enough for Cassandra to close her eyes in concentration and send that familiar wave of power across the room.

Mythal and Solas clutched at their heads in agony as the lyrium within them burst into flames. The barriers collapsed, and Dorian replenished the ones at the doors before whipping his own magic through the room. His face was only slightly pained this time, but Cullen knew if they survived this, he'd be complaining about the torture once more.

Cassandra kept crashing her power into them, though Cullen sensed the breaks where she was beginning to tire. Mythal recovered enough inside of one to point the anchor to the ceiling, tearing through the weakened Fade and releasing a torrent of demons into the room. The remaining members of the party stopped their rush to the ancient elves and whirled back to the new threat.

"Take care of them," shouted Cullen. "Don't stop sending, Cassandra." He stepped towards the elves, still curled into pained balls, and knelt to grasp the chain around Ellana's neck.

"No!" she said, shoving him away as her power faded. "You can't. Hold Solas. Contain him."

He didn't argue, though he desperately wanted to, and moved to Solas. His staff had fallen loosely from his grip, and Cullen picked it up before the man had fully recovered, breaking it over his knee at the place where the magic was weakest. Staves had been expressly forbidden in the Circles, and all Templars knew how to break them. He turned back to Solas and raised his sword at the feral, alien look in his eyes. Fen'Harel alone, now.

"You think we need a staff to destroy you?" Magic gathered in his hands, but before he could release it a demon bore down on them, attracted by the scent of power and desperately hungry. Fen'Harel turned to it with a snarl and began to attack it instead, and Cullen spared a look at Cassandra.

She was on the ground, wrestling with Mythal in Ellana's strong new body. Her own sword was far away, but he could see from the pained looks on Mythal's face that Cassandra was still sending bursts of her Seeker's power into the woman. And Mythal may have been strong, but she clearly had little hand-to-hand combat skill. Cassandra was elbowing and punching and kneeing in all the right places, and without consistent magic the elf was slowly but surely losing ground.

While he watched, Cassandra gripped the scales, no longer protected by its shield. She yelled triumphantly, and a new terror crossed Mythal's face. "No! Cassandra, don't! Please!"

Cassandra wavered and stopped, almost certainly hearing what he did. Ellana's voice, desperate and strong. Not so resonant, not so old, but somehow even more powerful than Mythal had been. The command of the Inquisitor, and they were all sworn to obey.

Cullen saw the moment when Cassandra decided to ignore it, too afraid of a trick, and Ellana pushed her anchored hand out again in a twisting motion. The Fade screamed around them, twisting with her motion. Cassandra's hand opened as she flew back into the wall with a grunt.

Cullen made to run to her, but Fen'Harel had finished with his demon and another bolt of magic sent Cullen reeling, stumbling to his knees in front of the Inquisitor. The sword fell out of his hand and slid away, but he was too close to the searing power in front of him to notice. His eyes locked with Ellana's, familiar and pale. They were so terribly sad that he almost cried out. Then they slid past him, and Cullen felt rather than heard the mage's furious denial behind him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and somehow the sound carried throughout the room. Everything stopped. Even the demons froze as she closed her glowing hand around the scales. "I'm sorry," she said again and pulled the chain so hard it broke. The glow intensified and a woman's scream of rage and pain filled them all to the breaking point. The demons fled back into the Fade, along with something much larger, and when Ellana opened her hand a river of liquid gold dripped to the floor.

She sank back to the ground with a long sigh. Her entire body seemed to deflate, her eyes closing in infinite weariness. The last thing she did before she went limp was send another ripple of power through the room, sealing the rift and leaving them all in silence.

* * *

Indecipherable elvish words broke the silence, and the growling voice tore Cullen out of his stupor. He scrambled behind him for his sword, but the elf had already picked it up and was advancing on them both. Fury lined his usually placid face, and Cullen tried to find a way to shield both the Inquisitor and Cassandra.

Terrifyingly, the other man didn't even seem to see him. "She's gone," he said in an even voice threaded with the promise of violence. "You sent her back into the Fade. After centuries of waiting." Sparks crackled and died on his fingers, and he snarled a curse that held Solas's name. He gripped the sword more tightly, with a surprising familiarity. "I helped you. You allowed me to hope. You bitch."

"Solas," said Cullen. "Stop." He stood and reached for the elf's free arm, then ducked as sharpened steel swung at his head. "You love her. Stop him!"

Uncertainty played across his face but vanished when another sword swung past him. Darren slid in after it and brandished his weapon in a high guard. "Get everyone out of here," he said. "Get the guards. Dorian, drop the barriers and -"

Fen'Harel snaked his sword - Cullen's sword - past Darren's defense, slicing him deeply across the side. Darren hissed softly in surprise as his shirt turned a sickening red. Blood poured out of the wound and fell to the floor in a crimson waterfall.

The room exploded into chaos once more.

Dorian's agonized cry came first, and his protections flew away from the door to settle over Darren's now-ashen form. Cullen noted mechanically, approvingly, that he settled the barriers so close to the skin that the one over the wound partially stanched the bleeding. The rest of Cullen's mind was taken up with catching his brother and lowering him to the ground as gently as he could. Cassandra moved next, slower than her usual speed but still faster than anyone else in the room. She held her sword once more, and when Fen'Harel found his blows glancing harmlessly away from his original threat he turned to her with a dizzying grace.

Whatever else Fen'Harel may have been, he was an excellent fighter. Cullen had always wondered why Solas's body was so wiry, where the strength in his arms came from and what its use was for a scholar who spent most of his time in the Fade, but must have been for this. The Wolf, keeping himself in form. He had an aggressive style, defending by striking, and Cassandra was more than a match for him, but she couldn't find an opening of her own. Bull and Cole moved to flank, Cole with sounds of deep distress every time the clash of blades rang through the room. Fen'Harel felt them coming and spun to catch their weapons with his own broad sweep. But even an excellent warrior couldn't stand against so many and hope to survive.

Cullen watched with dark satisfaction, still kneeling over the bleeding form of his brother, as Cassandra took advantage of Bull's feint and slashed her sword in a killing blow. Kill them both. It was the only way to be sure.

Her blow never landed. A barrier snapped into place around Fen'Harel, wrenching her arm as it absorbed the full force of the strike.

Cullen looked incredulously at Dorian, but he was busy whispering Tevene words to Darren in an encouraging voice. His hands dipped inside the barrier to apply a faint healing glow to the wound. He barely seemed to be aware there was a fight, much less helping anyone. Perhaps Solas had intervened, to save his own life. But even as Cullen thought it, he saw a stunned look cross the Fen'Harel's face, and the elf looked down at the still body of the Inquisitor.

It wasn't still anymore. Her eyes were open, exhausted but clear. "Solas," she said. Her voice was melodious over his name, a song of longing older than any ancient civilization. "Help me."

Cole was suddenly beside her, in a movement too fast to see, and he echoed her softly as he stared at the man who seemed to be warring with himself. The elf breathed in once, sharply, and changed. His violet eyes changed from feral to agonized, and his familiar green magic flooded out of him into her. And into Darren, who stirred under their hands. A relieved sob shook itself from Dorian when the soldier opened his eyes briefly before slipping away again.

But Cullen stayed focused on Solas, who still poured magic into the room. _Too much,_ he thought. _He's draining himself too much._ But it seemed to have an effect. Ellana sat up hesitantly and rose to her feet. Cassandra tried to stop her as she stepped closer to Solas, whose magic was slowing to a trickle, but Ellana shook her head in silent command and reached out to touch the man's face through her barrier.

"My love," she said, and Solas shuddered under her fingers and her words. "Stop. I'm here."

"It's not enough to keep you."

"No," she said. "But it's enough for now. Don't burn yourself away."

The magic stopped flowing, and Solas put his forehead to hers. Tears tracked down his cheeks, though his body was still taut with a warrior's tension. "Why did you do it? You'll die. I can't keep you alive now."

"I wasn't alive. I was only existing," she said. She didn't turn around, but Cullen knew she was speaking to all of them. "And the price of even that was much too high."

"He still wants to kill you," said Solas. "The Wolf is so strong."

Ellana smiled softly. "You won't let him. You're stronger."

Solas leaned back and shook his head. "I'm not. He's been a part of me for too long," he said. He reached down with effort and clasped the wolf's tooth that still hung around his neck. He held it out to her. "You are."

"No," she said, suddenly afraid. "It will kill you. Even faster than me."

" _Vhenan_ ," he said, curling his free hand around her waist. Her own tears began to fall as he stroked the fabric there in calming waves. "Without my heart, how can I live? Please. Free me." A murderous look crossed his face before he fought it off. "Please," he added desperately.

Ellana reached out with a shaking hand and took the tooth from him. He whispered a goodbye as she grasped it in her palm. Once again the Fade opened and closed, a swirling torrent of sound through them all, and another feeling of power swept away. But this time, when she opened her hand, the wolf's tooth was still intact.

Solas stared at her, clearly shocked, and she smiled a little as she let the talisman fall back to him. "Just a little. A few weeks. Enough," she said. She kissed him gently. "I won't let you travel into the Fade alongside him."

"You know that's not how it works," he said disapprovingly, but she was already turning aside.

"The Inquisitor passes judgment on all crimes that occur in these halls," she said formally. "But this is a crime without precedent or equal, and I am complicit in its workings. Any evil that happened here was my own doing, in a selfish effort to retain a life that was less important than I wished to believe. I am no longer worthy to be called your leader. And I will die very soon."

They all winced, but she ignored them. "I relinquish my title, in front of you all. In front of my family. I am Ellana Lavellan alone, and I present us both for your sentencing. My only request is that whatever judgment you render applies equally to each offender."

Cullen rose and looked at Leliana, completely off balance. He knew with dreadful certainty that only Darren's labored breathing below him was stopping him from executing Solas where he stood. But Solas had been the one who saved him. And Ellana had saved them all from herself, possibly at the cost of both of their lives. He studied them closely and realized with a start that they both expected to be killed.

Leliana nodded to him, giving him her blessing to choose. As he swept his eyes over the rest of them, exhausted and drained and covered in demon remnants, they didn't speak. Josephine was crying silently, her dress torn and ripped where she'd tried to fight. Sera had bloody, scored knuckles from punching and kicking without her bow, and bruises bloomed across her face. Varric sat on the ground where he'd fallen, nursing a shallow wound. Bull and Cole looked untouched and impassive beneath their usual masks. Cassandra waited patiently, support in every line. Only Dorian was a white-hot rage, a fire in his eyes that demanded not just justice but vengeance.

That decided him. "Revenge serves no one. All execution will do is create fear of the Inquisition and doubt among our followers. The true threat is passed. And I accept your resignation, Ellana Lavellan, as their conspirators, but I believe you've already passed final judgment on yourself. The last act of the Inquisitor," he said with a hitch in his throat. He cleared it and continued. "To prevent the Inquisition from further suffering, I sentence you to pass your remaining days under guard, in confinement. You'll both be restricted to the Inquisitor's chambers until the end of your days."

Ellana curtsied deeply, holding the corners of her breeches out like a skirt. Cullen remembered the day Josephine had taught her that, before the Orlesian ball, patiently and carefully showing an uncoordinated mage how to sink without falling, rise without wobbling. From the suddenly shining eyes of the room, they all did.

"Will you escort us, Commander?"

He nodded, then gestured to Bull and Cassandra. Slowly, quietly, they opened the door back into the Great Hall, which was still full of people talking and laughing as though the world hadn't ended.

* * *

They all spent time with the new, secret prisoners in the time after the end of things. As Cullen had predicted, Ellana weakened quickly and likely wouldn't have been able to be moved from her room anyway. He told the guards they were keeping people out, not in, but the effect was the same. And it hardly mattered in the end. Ellana couldn't leave, and Solas wouldn't. He seemed less unhealthy than she was, but the undercurrent of anger and focus that had seemed to sustain him was gone. He was vanishing in front of all of them, like a slow version of Cole's disappearing trick.

When Cullen talked to him now, he studied his face, looking for a scared little boy, afraid, taking a curse onto himself that he didn't understand. An aching loneliness was etched there once more, and he pitied the man. Just a little. Just enough.

Even Darren and Dorian eventually visited them, the injured man walking gingerly and leaning on the other. But when Cullen watched them leave their positions were reversed, and the poisonous rage that had been Dorian's constant companion since their return leeched out through the tears on his face.

Cullen spent more time in the Hall than he would have liked, taking care of the details Ellana had always attended to. Meeting dignitaries with Josephine, judging, granting favors, navigating arguments. Cassandra took over most of his duties, and he trusted her with it implicitly but also envied her as she sat in his office, far away from so many headaches. He also missed her desperately. When they saw each other they were as they'd used to be, loving and warm, but she spent every night in the Inquisitor's room on guard. His soldierly side approved, but his lover's side most certainly didn't, and he woke often in the night wishing she were there.

One day around the War Table, discussing yet another round of brush fires to put out, he finally snapped. "This is ridiculous. We need a new Inquisitor. Someone to deal with all of these things to leave the rest of us free to do the work."

Cassandra, Josephine and Leliana all exchanged glances. "We agree, Cullen," said Josephine.

Ominously, in his opinion. "When did I stop being Commander?" he asked, only half-joking. Anything but that.

Anyone but him.

Leliana dashed his hopes, as usual. "It must be you."

He was already shaking his head. "No. I like deployment schedules. Troop assessments. Training recruits. I don't like being nice to idiots who can't solve a simple dispute on their own terms without bringing in one of the most powerful organizations in Thedas," he said. "And I certainly don't like smiling. One of you should do it."

"Smiling is not a requirement," said Leliana. "Only competence is. And respect. In the absence of a divinely authored leader, we must choose carefully. Josie lacks the respect of the troops. I lack their trust. Justifiably."

Josephine placed a hand over hers, and the spymaster smiled sadly. "If things had not progressed as they had, if she had not chosen lies when it was time for truth, manipulation when it was time for honesty, death when it was time for life, I might have chosen Mythal without qualm. I wanted her power. I wanted…" She trailed off, then began again. "I am a good spy, but I am not a good leader. I am a good Hand, but not a good mind. You saw what was right, Cullen, and we all survived impossible odds. Our men love you. Other nations respect you, our allies and our enemies both. If you're our face, they will listen."

"Listen to what?" he asked warily, but they didn't answer. She was right, of course, and the battle was already almost over, but he still had to try. "Cassandra, then. She sees right even more than I do. And the Inquisition is her child."

She stood, eyes still beautiful and dark in sadness. He longed to reach out and run his hand over her hip. Then he realized if he was going to be the Inquisitor he could do whatever he wanted, so he did. A spark of laughter overtook the sadness, and he looked up at her. "You're the right one for this," he said. "Not me."

"No," she said. Her own hand covered his and traced his fingers slowly. "If the Inquisition is my child, then I'm the last one fit to lead it. A parent protects too much for too long. She must know when to step aside. Please do this for me."

And that was unfair, because he could never deny her anything. Especially not when she was so close, when she was looking at him in a way that made him want to clear the room and lose himself in her until they were both breathless.

He considered. "Very well. I'll be your Inquisitor, for now, until someone better presents themselves. But there is a condition," he said. The women looked at him politely, and he gestured to the door. "Leliana and Josephine leave. Right now."

Both of them smiled and stood to comply while Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "That's hardly appropriate."

He rose to kiss her thoroughly. "Neither am I," he said when he was finished. He smiled crookedly when she couldn't hide a flash of desire.

"We'll reconvene in one hour, Com- Inquisitor," said Leliana meaningfully. The door closed, and he heard the snick of a lock falling into place.

Cassandra's eyes never left his face. "What now?"

His need waned under the enormity of the question. He curled his hand around the back of her neck and breathed deeply while he watched her. She matched his movement, and they stood still for a long minute, letting their tension drain.

Eventually he whispered, "Ellana is dying. Ferelden, Orlais, Antiva, Tevinter will all see it as a sign of weakness when we lose our symbol. We _will_ be weaker without her heart. And the Inquisition is about to have a leader who's barely competent to hold the title." He closed his eyes. "Tell me that you trust me to do this. To hold what you built without breaking it."

"I trust you with everything that's mine," she said quietly. "I always have. This is no different."

"I'm terrified I'll disappoint you," he said, almost too softly to hear, but the soothing motion of her fingers told him she had. He thought of Nevarra, the place she still wanted to help. "Don't leave me."

"I won't," she promised. Her lips brushed over his, and he left his eyes closed, relaxing into the kiss that was comfort instead of flame. "You won't do this alone. I love you, Cullen. Let me show you how much."

And for the next hour, in quiet ways and heated moments, she did. And the world began again.


	20. Gifts Of Beauty and Song

Ellana asked to see him the next day, and Cullen complied. He found her sitting in a chair on her balcony with Solas wrapped around her, both of them silent and still. He paused before they noticed him, heart heavy with grief. If it weren't for the shallow rise of her chest, she could easily be mistaken for someone who'd already passed on. He'd thought the Mortalitasi were skeletal and absent, but she was beyond even them. Flesh stretched over prominent bone, color drained from her face, the only sign of power remaining the death sentence on her hand.

Then her eyes opened and she fixed him with her gaze, and it was so alive he lost his breath. She was still there, still vital and firm inside that wasted body, and that was the worst of all.

"Dmitri has offered to send his best mages here to help," he said. Cassandra had trusted the prince with the truth, with Cullen's agreement, and the Nevarran's response had been immediate.

But Ellana shook her head slightly. "I spent too much power sending Mythal and Fen'Harel into the Fade. I'm beyond their help. And I've learned my lesson," she said. "I thought once Corypheus died, my own death could have no purpose. But I was wrong. There's still a right time for me to leave. This is it. A divine Inquisitor has no place in this new world."

Solas sighed and stroked her arm, but Ellana only smiled as Cullen pulled a chair out to join them. "Which reminds me, I believe I should be congratulating you. Or possibly consoling?"

"Cassandra told you?" he asked, and she nodded. "I think I need both. How did you manage to keep so many people happy for so long?"

"Closing a hole in reality buys a small grace period." She looked at him meaningfully. "But Inquisitors don't get to go on patrol."

He groaned. "Don't remind me," he said. He put his head in his hands. "The King and Queen of Ferelden are already on their way here. Leliana says Morrigan is with them. They haven't said what they want, but I imagine it's not to shake our hands and give the thanks of a grateful nation."

"Josephine will charm Alistair, Leliana will play remember-when with Morrigan, and Cassandra will out-bully Elissa," she said practically.

"So what do I do?"

"You're decoration," she said. Her voice lowered to a confidential whisper. "Don't tell anyone, but I didn't do as much as people thought."

Cullen gave her a skeptical look. "I've been doing this for less than a day, and I had to use all of my meager stealth capabilities to get up here. I don't believe you."

She laughed lightly, and they sat quietly for a minute. A bird lighted on the railing and stared at them in mute curiosity. Ellana reached her hand out, arm trembling only slightly, and the bird hopped to her finger in a quick movement. Cullen held his breath as Ellana beamed, finger curling just a little towards herself.

"Will you sing to this one, _vhenan_?" asked Solas. The bird started and flew away at his voice.

Ellana dropped her hand and mocked glared at him. "I only did that once. And it was lovely," she said. "But Cullen isn't here to listen to me sing."

"Yes, why am I here?" asked Cullen. "I was hoping it was for advice."

"That's true. But likely not the advice you were hoping for," she said. She closed her eyes. "I can't tell you how to be the Inquisitor. Mostly because I don't know. I was a mistake, Cullen. A person who was never supposed to be, becoming someone who was never meant to happen. Fen'Harel and Corypheus created me, not the Maker. You and Cassandra and Leliana and Josephine finished the job. I hope I did well. I hope I did good. I know that I fought for this world, and I don't regret what I gave it. And I treasure what it gave back to me."

She squeezed Solas's hand as a tear rolled down her cheek. "In Lavellan I never fit. I was First because a mage always will be, but the Clan wasn't happy with me. I wasn't happy with them. They sent me to spy on the Conclave honestly, I'm sure, but they wouldn't have mourned my capture, or my death, as much as they pretended."

She looked at Cullen again. "It took me a long time to understand that. Even more to accept it. And that only happened because of this place. The Inquisition was more than a movement or a rebellion. It was all of you. A family. Love that wasn't conditional on my usefulness or my power. Brothers and sisters. A lover. Even a father," she said, smiling at him.

His eyes widened. "I'm not sure I was always very fatherly in my attitude."

She laughed, and even Solas smiled. "You were. Even when you didn't know it, you were my father. And Cassandra was the mother I never had. I'm so happy you found each other. You're all so important to me," she said. She sobered. "But I forgot that I was only one of many. I put myself ahead of you in the end. I convinced myself that the Inquisitor wasn't just a sister or a daughter. She was the glue of the world, and I traded you all for her life. And that's when it all went wrong.

"I mistook significance for importance. I thought without me you would fall apart, and I took a deal with an evil worse than Corypheus to stop that from happening. And to keep you," she added to Solas. "It wasn't all selfish, I hope. I love you, you know."

Solas kissed her gently and whispered, "I know."

Ellana turned back to Cullen and wiped her eyes. "It wasn't until Mythal was truly determined to kill you all, when you were suffering and strong together that I knew I'd been wrong. I wasn't the glue. I was the catalyst, perhaps, but you continued without me. Family is family, and you stood together against her. You didn't break."

Cullen reached out to take her hand, and she clasped it in her own before continuing in a smaller voice. "And you still wanted to save me. I'd betrayed you, I didn't deserve to be saved, but still you were trying. Oh Cullen, I felt it. You want me to live so much," she said, and then she wept in earnest, great heaving sobs that wracked her frail body. Solas poured his strength around her, and Cullen gripped her hand as tightly as he dared. Tears gathered and spilled down his own face as she cried her disbelief.

The storm passed slowly, and she blinked at him through the final rumbles. "I didn't deserve it. But I'm grateful anyway, because now I can be here to say these things to you. Not how to be the Inquisitor, but how to be what I wasn't. I told you I believed in three things, but they weren't the right things. Solas does love me. And I've never lost faith in you. But the Inquisition is nothing. It's a tool. It's the package around something that's so much stronger. It's my friends given voice, the world brought together for good, and it's not the Inquisition that has that power. It's you all," she said. "Don't forget that, Cullen. Don't lose sight of them."

"I won't," he said. He rose up from his chair and leaned over her. Her head was bowed, and he kissed the mass of still-dark hair as he rubbed her shoulder. Like his father had done for Mia, when she was afraid. Like his mother had done for him, when there was something so wrong that nothing else could fix it. "I promise."

When he sat back down, she still wore a stricken look. "I'm sorry for what I asked Cassandra to do. I'm sorry I did that to you both."

"No more apologies," said Cullen. "You're forgiven. We survived. I don't want to spend my time with you remembering the things that could have been done differently."

She relaxed, and Solas rubbed her leg as her energy waned again. He looked at Cullen, and he took the hint to leave. She was already drifting off into the sleepy unconsciousness that was her usual state these days.

"One more apology," she said in a quiet voice as he stood. He paused and waited while she summoned words once again. "I'm sorry I won't be here for your wedding. It was going to be so beautiful."

She fell asleep then, breath coming soft and even. Cullen watched her for a moment, mind spinning in a new direction. "No apology needed," he whispered, then winked at Solas before walking back down the stairs to find Josephine.

* * *

Vivienne officiated the ceremony, coordinated and decorated by Leliana, Dorian and Josephine with an almost unseemly level of enthusiasm. Cullen waited on the balcony next to the Divine and stared at the mounds of fabric and flowers surrounding them all. Sera had plucked a large purple orchid to pin to her garish pink dress, and when she saw him looking she threw him a casual salute. Josephine and Leliana stood next to her in much more elegant formal wear, but they too had attached flowers to themselves. They giggled like girls as each one tried to grab at the other's to reposition it.

Ellana was sitting nearby, ready to stand in the first position as soon as the ceremony started. Solas supported her quietly, coursing what remained of his healing powers into her whenever she needed it, trying to help her ride a wave of health long enough to participate. She had no dress - nothing would fit - but Leliana had spent hours that morning pinning and gluing even more flowers to her dressing gown. When Cullen had arrived in his carefully tailored tunic and pants, created for him in secret so long ago, he'd taken her hands in his own and whispered, "You look beautiful, Ellana."

"Thank you, Father," she'd said with a grin, and he'd laughed with her.

Darren, Dorian, Varric and Blackwall flanked him, making for a very crowded balcony indeed, but Cullen wouldn't have it any other way. He would even tolerate their own clothing, which had gone straight past fashionable, completely missed esoteric, and wound up at nearly-undressed. Darren's bandage had dictated a shirtless look, to Dorian's delight, and the Tevinter man never needed an excuse to show off his own physique. Varric had been an easy mark as well, though Cullen still didn't know how they'd talked Blackwall into something that revealed such a vast expanse of skin. He suspected it had something to do with the man's faint flush as Josephine and Leliana eyed him approvingly.

Then Cole appeared, this time through the door instead of in mid-air, and Cullen's pulse quickened. That meant it was almost time. The spirit carried their rings, at Ellana's request, though he'd been nearly insensible with terror when he'd asked Cullen how to do it. Cole didn't know much about marriage, or about human customs in general, but he knew the rings were powerful symbols.

It had taken Cullen some time to understand his fears, but he realized that Cole was worried he would harm the rings with his touch, taint them in some way. Ever since Ellana had vanished behind another woman's mind, Cole had withdrawn into himself, no longer voicing thoughts or helping hurts. Cullen hoped doing this would bring him some comfort.

Cole took his place next to Vivienne, who smiled through gritted teeth as she accepted his presence. For Ellana, they'd told her, and she'd agreed more gracefully than they'd expected. She looked towards the stairs as the door opened once more, and Ellana rose slowly to take her place across from Darren. Cullen held his breath as he waited.

The day was beautiful and clear, with a hint of summer's promise that made the Frostbacks feel warmer than they'd ever been. Or perhaps it was only the heat, and nerves, rushing through his own heart. They'd been married before. They still were, in a way, depending on what Cassandra's mood was. But their wedding had been private, and in a way it had never seemed real. A dream marriage, to complete the story he'd given her, but it was time for the dream to end. It was time to live.

When Cassandra appeared framed in the glass of the door, holding Bull's arm, his breath whooshed out in a great sigh. Her dress had been made long ago as well, but it fit her so perfectly it almost seemed molded to her. It was white and open, with a neckline that made his mouth water and a full skirt that had him longing to explore beneath it. She looked like the snowbanks in the quiet mountains where he'd escaped when the world became too much. Only she was more pure, more beautiful, and even more still than they could ever be. He met her eyes and realized that was because she was his new place of comfort, and she'd sworn she always would be. And now everyone would know.

A rush of possessiveness flooded through him, demanding and powerful, and she must have seen his face darken. She bit her full lower lip as she took his hands. "I know it's a little much," she said, looking down at herself.

"It's exactly enough," he whispered with a heat that had Dorian coughing behind him. "You're a vision. I can't believe you want to marry me."

Then she smiled, relief playing in her eyes. "The ceremony is not completed. I may yet change my mind."

The coughing spread from Dorian to the rest of their audience, and Cullen couldn't stop the wicked grin arching across his face. "No you won't. There's a wedding night waiting for you, sweetheart."

"If that roof was still open it would be waiting for all of us," muttered Varric. and the coughing gave way to spasms of laughter around the circle.

Vivienne was the only one to retain her composure, and she arched her eyebrow at the waiting couple. "If I may begin, my dears?"

They both nodded without taking their eyes off each other, and she began the Chant that would bind them together. Cullen only half-listened, choosing instead to memorize Cassandra's face as she focused on the Divine. All of the memories he had of it. All the new ones they would make.

He snapped back to the present when Vivienne asked if the Maker would find him ready. "Yes," he said. "I am ready for the Maker, and for my bride."

Cassandra answered the question in the same soft tones, and he squeezed her hand. Then Cole stepped forward, reaching inside his fashionably tailored pockets to draw out a ring in one pale hand. He gave it to Cullen with a serious look. "Hold this in your hand."

Cullen raised his eyebrow, but he did as he was bidden. Cole folded his fingers over his palm until the cool metal was warming inside his fist. "Think of Cassandra. What she is," said the spirit, and Cullen closed his eyes.

He thought about the face he'd just gazed at so intently. The delicious darkness of her eyes, the sinful pink shine of her lips, the arch of her brow whenever she sensed his gaze on her. The strength of her arms in the ring, the desperate belief she had in the Maker, the quick step of her mind when her patience ran out. Beauty. Safety. Comfort. And sex so sweltering that he could hardly believe he'd lived so long without having it. Love filled him and completed him as he let her overtake his mind. She was his princess and his warrior. And she would be his wife again.

When he opened his eyes again, Cole was smiling. He took the ring back from Cullen's unresisting hand and turned to Cassandra. "This is your ring," he said. "It is a promise to be all the things that Cullen needs. You promise to wear it always, to show your love so he will never doubt it. You promise to be the small moments. You promise to stay with him to hold back his hurting. You promise that when he is afraid in the night, you will take the fear away and light the dark for all the rest of your days." He frowned, then. "That is many promises. Do you make them?"

"I do," she said. "I promise all that and more." Her composure wavered a little as she slipped the ring on her finger in confirmation of her promise. Cullen couldn't stop staring at it, even when Cole handed her another ring and commanded her to think of him.

He only tore his gaze away when she opened her eyes. Cole took the ring back and turned to him gravely. His stomach flipped at the serious look on the spirit's face.

"This is your ring," he said. "It is a promise to accept all the things Cassandra is. You promise to love her in dresses and in mail and in nothing at all. You promise to protect what is hers, including yourself. You promise to be her knight and keep her paths straight. You promise to be strength when it is needed, and honor when it cannot be found. You promise to give the gift of yourself to her for all the rest of your days." Then he smiled brilliantly. "It is also a secret yet untold. Do you accept these things?"

"I do," he said, staring at her in wonder. Was it possible she didn't know how completely he loved her? How many times he'd dreamed of her in every aspect? If not, he would show her, immediately and always. "I promise my love to Cassandra, in all her glorious forms."

He realized that the group around him was crying, and his own tears mingled with theirs easily. He placed his ring on his finger with gentle care, then lifted the hand to her face. She leaned into it and closed her eyes. Vivienne wiped the corner of her eye and finished the final Chant.

As soon as her voice stopped, Cullen pulled his bride to him and kissed her passionately. His hands roamed over her as she responded, and he moaned when she mirrored his explorations. And while the catcalls and whistles made him blush, he didn't let her go until he'd shown her just exactly how much he appreciated her in whatever she was wearing. But especially in this.

* * *

They spent some time in a private reception in the Inquisitor's quarters until Ellana's eyes could no longer struggle open after they closed. That part was welcome, because he wanted her family to be with her while they could. And because Cassandra sat on his lap for most of the party. The dinner in the Great Hall was more onerous, a parade of well-wishers and congratulations that wore thinner the longer his hands weren't on her.

Bull sensed his annoyance and made a point of remarking at frequent intervals what an attractive wife he had. It was a very Bull thing to do, because each reminder of her attractiveness was a thorn, but each public acknowledgment of her status as his wife was the balm. He glared at the qunari mutely each time, but the man only laughed and poured more drinks.

A few hours in, Varric stood on a chair and pounded his foot on the table. "Folks, you can eat and drink later. The Inquisition is footing the bill for this whole thing, so don't be shy. But for now, the former Commander has been ordered to escort his beautiful bride to their wedding suite. By his bride. And we all know that, even for the Inquisitor, the Seeker is not to be denied."

Shouts of agreement came from all corners. Cassandra, bright red and furious, threw a napkin at the dwarf, who shook it off of his head with a careless laugh. "So, let's line the paths and wish them a speedy journey and a lengthy night, shall we?"

Cullen rose immediately, too eager to worry about embarrassment, and crossed to Cassandra to take her hand. When he tugged her towards the door, the Hall laughed. She scowled once more, but she followed him anyway. They wound their way through the atrium, across the bridge, and to the office they once again shared. Varric had assured him that the only unlocked door was the one in the front, and he flung it open with a flourish to another round of amusement from the residents following behind. He grinned and gestured for Cassandra to enter.

She folded her arms in mutiny, completely unaware of the affect that had on his view of her chest. He certainly wasn't going to tell her. But when she huffed out a breath, her breast rising and falling in a wave, he couldn't hold himself back anymore and pulled her in for another searing kiss. She growled into his mouth as her fingers tightened needfully in his hair.

He broke away with another smile. He swept her up into his arms, to the sound of roaring applause, and carried her inside the room. But the applause was meaningless in the end, as was everything else. When he swung her in a wide circle to kick the door closed, she finally laughed, and it was the high, pure sound that meant she was as happy as she could ever be.

* * *

By the time he made it up the ladder after her, regrettably unable to see anything due to the fullness of her skirt, she had the offending garment unhooked and draped across the dresser. Cullen stopped at the top of the ladder and gripped the nearest wall as he stared at her. She'd also removed the top covering he hadn't even known was there. A bodice was all that was left, giving her even more curves than he remembered her having, and her very, very long legs somehow looked even longer. And more delicious. "Maker's breath," he said. "How could you ever think I don't love you when you dress like this?"

Cassandra blushed and looked away, but he walked towards her, shedding his tunic in a single move. He spun her around to press against her back, and to his own surprise he wasn't needy and desperate, like he'd been in Nevarra. They had all night. There was no propriety and no watching eyes. He was going to worship her.

His hands slid down her waist to steady her hips as he planted soft kisses to her neck. He deliberately rasped his stubble against her skin, delighting in the shiver that coursed through her. "I dreamed of you in that Lothering dress. I wanted to have you in every corner of the place, behind all the tapestries and in each room. The slit up the side was so long, I could have slipped my fingers underneath it to stroke you without any effort." He suited actions to words, playing his fingertips over her thighs. "How wet might you have gotten for me, I wonder?"

"I already was," she said. She pressed back against him, rubbing against his stirring cock. He stifled a groan, whether from her words or her actions he didn't know. "Your eyes were dark. But I thought you hated it enough to tear it from my body. I admit I was hoping for it."

He ghosted his lips over her earlobe, then licked at the spot below her ear that made her moan. "I did want to rip it off and lay you bare for me. But I never would have. If I had, how could you wear it again?" He pulled away from her and stared at the back of her corset and frowned. "Will I have to rip this one off?"

She laughed breathlessly. "No. It unties," she said. She pointed to her shoulder blade, and he attacked the knot with quiet focus. Once it was loosened he trailed a hand around to the front again, exploring the gentle swell of her breast. Even through the fabric he felt her nipple harden, and he growled possessively. The cord binding her slowly fell away under his patient fingers, and when the bodice was loose enough she yanked it down and pressed into his fingers.

"More," she said, and he complied, pulling her flush against him once more. He rubbed himself against her and brought both hands to her breasts, squeezing and kneading to the rhythm of her breathy sounds. "I love your hands. Strong. Rough. Your callouses feel so good when they catch -"

She broke off in ragged affirmation as he dragged his rough palm over her nipple once more, taking him past his limits of control. He spun her around to capture those sounds for himself, and he drank her in eagerly. She slipped her hands beneath his loosened trousers, cupping and squeezing his ass just as he'd done to her, and he moaned in turn.

Before he realized they were moving, she was leading him back to their bed. Her legs hit it with too much force, but she pulled him down on top of her as she fell. He caught himself on his elbows to avoid crushing her. He arched his back as he ground his half-clad hips into hers, groaning at the friction. "Careful," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm heavy."

Cassandra stopped moving, and he did the same. "Are you going to make another comment about my weight loss? I promise I've been eating," he said.

"No," she said. She struggled up onto her own elbows.

He rolled away from her, a little concerned when she didn't try to stop him. "What's wrong? Did I do something?"

"You're perfect," she said, touching his face briefly. He savored the new feeling of the ring on her finger even as he waited for her to continue. "You always are. But there's something you must know."

"Now?" he asked incredulously, then winced as she glared at him. "Of course. I'm sorry."

She sat all the way up, and he tried not to stare at her exposed breasts. She smiled wryly when she saw his struggle and reached behind her to grab a shirt from her night table. After she pulled it on, she looked at him as if to say, _Better?_

He raised his eyebrow to indicate it depended on the definition of better, but he settled back against the wall and ignored his greedy mind as best he could.

"It's about the fight with Mythal," she said.

His blood ran cold and all desire fled. "Did she hurt you? You hit the wall so hard. I should have insisted you go to the healers. Oh Maker, did I just hurt you when I fell on you?"

"No," she said, exasperated. "Cullen. I'm fine. Please let me continue."

His worry didn't abate, but he tried to stay quiet as his fists clenched and unclenched.

"Did you not wonder why Ellana took control at that moment? When I was at advantage, almost ready to sever the link she wanted to be broken?"

"She didn't want you to get hurt. If Mythal had taken you over, she would have tried to kill you. Just like with Sera. Ellana stopped that, too. She just had to be more direct."

Cassandra shook her head. "I would not have been hurt. I cannot be possessed."

"Ellana might not have known that."

"She knew."

"Then why?" he asked, patience fleeing. "Just tell me."

Cassandra looked down at her hands. "Mythal was the Mother of the ancient Pantheon. She was not very motherly in temperament, but there were things she saw that might not have otherwise been obvious," she said. When Cullen didn't say anything, she sighed. "My mind cannot be possessed. But Ellana told me I am no longer alone in my body."

He stared at her in confusion, then covered his mouth as understanding dawned. "You're pregnant?" She nodded silently, and he scrambled across the bed to hold her. "Sweetheart. Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Have you seen a healer yet?"

"Yes, to all. It is too early for any sickness, and Solas says the child is well. And Ellana says there is no trace of Mythal's presence."

He leaned back, frowning. "Then why don't you sound happier?" Dmitri's smug face rose in his mind, a thought too horrible to ignore. "Do you think I'm not the father?"

She scowled at him in a way that was very reassuring. "Of course you are. There is no one else."

"I don't understand, then."

"I almost hurt our child," she said, voice breaking. "Your child. You wanted this so badly, and I could have destroyed it before it had a chance to be. How can I forgive myself for that? What kind of mother will I be if already I am putting it at risk? It's life is mine to hold. What if I don't love it enough? What if I'm too selfish to protect it as I should?"

Vestalus. Anthony. Her own, missing parents. "Cassandra," he said, wrapping his arms around her again. He rubbed her arms, soothing her with the strong hands she loved. "If you didn't love it, you wouldn't be so worried now. You aren't your uncle. You aren't even Dmitri. You don't do anything for your own ambitions. You do them for the whole world. What we were fighting for was important. It wasn't selfish."

He paused, moving to stroke her hair. "Did you even know you were pregnant? It must have only been a few weeks."

"No," she said in a small voice. "I didn't think it was possible. I'd only stopped taking the herbs when we went to Nevarra, to make traveling easier."

"And now that you know, would you do the same thing again? Would you fight Mythal?"

It was a serious question, and she thought about it seriously. He waited in silence, still tracing tiny circles over her. "No," she said eventually. "I would have found another way." She touched her stomach lightly, and his throat tightened. "This is a part of you, and you are mine. I couldn't risk that."

"I am yours," he said softly. He kissed her ear, her neck, her shoulder, and he ran his hands down to slip under her shirt. The corset was still there, but he spread his palm over her covered stomach. "We're yours. Oh sweetheart, I love you so much. I love this. You're going to be a wonderful mother. You're already a wonderful wife."

She turned her head to kiss him as well, sliding them both back into familiar heat, and he settled on his back to let her straddle him. The shirt was pulled away, and he stared reverently at her breasts again. "Maker. Those are going to get so big," he said in awe, rolling his hips beneath her as he reached up to graze them with his fingertips.

Cassandra laughed, shaking her chest in a way that had him curling up to capture her mouth once more. His hands roamed behind her back to untie the rest of the corset as she bit and nipped at his lip. "It's fortunate we married so quickly. This dress might not have fit otherwise."

"That's the kind of problem I like to have," he said incoherently, mumbling against her and pushing the fabric down and away. "Though I did like the way you wore it. I couldn't stop thinking about doing this to you." He punctuated his meaning by sliding his hand between their hips. "But is it safe?"

"Mmm?" she murmured when he found her wet and ready. "Oh yes. It is safe for some time."

They came together once again, sweeter but no less wanting, before she dragged her lips to his ear. "You can even be on top."

He grinned into the join of her shoulder. "How did you know that's what I wanted?"

"Because I know you," she said. "And also because it's what I want. You inside of me, long and slow and lovely. I want that very much. Please." She said the last with a gasp as he dipped his fingers inside of her.

He rolled over of her gently and planted a kiss on her stomach as he drew away the last of her clothing. "Your mother is so demanding," he whispered. "I won't get any rest at all."

"No, you won't," she said severely. "Not if you don't take me right now. Maybe not even then. You promised me a wedding night. And this time it won't be in an inn with too-thin walls."

Cullen laughed and trailed his mouth back up her body, stopping to lavish attention on each mark and scar until she threatened to go back out to the party unless he continued. And even then he moved slowly enough to have her cursing him, at least until he covered her lips with his own.

When he finally settled himself inside of her, she gripped his shoulders with desperate fingers that excited him beyond all measure. Him. He did this to her, and she never wanted him to stop. And he wouldn't. That night Cullen gave her exactly what she needed for as long as she needed it, wringing noises out of her that the entire fortress could probably hear, even with the roof covered. He didn't care. They were a family, now, in name and in deed, and when she cried out her love for him, he was truly home.

By the time he fell asleep with a protective hand across her abdomen, the sounds of her pleasure still echoing in his mind, he was smiling so broadly he was sure he'd never be rid of it again.


	21. Sleeping Castles

Cullen stood on the battlements in the early dawn watching the distant caravan travel up the mountain pass. Fereldan, the scouts had told him, and he could almost feel the cold gaze of its sovereigns sweeping across the stone beneath his feet. He hadn't told them anything, but Darren almost certainly had, and Cullen hadn't made any moves to contain him. There'd been enough walls erected between the Inquisition and the rest of the world already. If Alistair and Elissa had trusted them earlier, or even him alone, there might not have needed to be a spy at all. Solas might have been reasoned with. There might have been another way to save Ellana.

No, secrets and divides had done enough damage. Leliana hadn't liked his laxity, but he made the final decisions now.

As the group made another turn, Cole walked softly up the steps and stood beside him. "Hello, Cole," he said. He nodded down to the wagons. "What are they thinking? Do you know?"

The spirit answered a different question. "She's quiet again."

Snow and cold and mountain air found the space to live inside him. He looked up at the balcony above them instinctively, daring Ellana to be there once again, watching them all and planning her new changes to all of their lives.

But of course she wasn't, and he tore his eyes away. "Maybe she's sleeping."

"No," said Cole. "I helped her. In the night the fears came, and I made her forget. Happy times only, and all of the faces that smiled for her. She wasn't a mistake. She was a gift. I told her, and she wasn't sad anymore. Lovely lanterns, leading to the light. And now Arlathan for them both, floating in the Fade."

Cullen gripped the stone in front of him with bruising force. "Did you help her to her end?"

The spirit looked guilty, and Cullen growled. "No," said Cole quickly. "Not her. But Solas. So much loneliness, crushing his soul against the rocks of the world."

So they were both gone, then. "How long?"

How long ago, is what he meant, but Cole found the real question. "How long does it take to step across a brook? How long to love? A moment. One breath. And the rest of time."

* * *

When Cullen reached the top of the winding stairs that had never seemed so steep, Leliana was waiting in wordless grief. They clasped hands like children in the oldest stories and stared at the bed where two figures lay entwined. Cole had been careful in his help, and both could have easily been asleep, if not for the pale stillness of their hands across each other. There was no more glowing anchor. The power was finally gone.

Cullen had seen death. Too much death to count, really, easy and hard and everywhere in between, but never a death with such peace inside it. And while this death was as ugly as any other, beauty lost inside the folds of anger that it ever had to be, he found a small seed of comfort that they'd had each other in the end. A lonely boy and a frightened girl, a little less alone and afraid for having each other.

"What do you think the Maker will say of them?" he asked.

"He will say that they are His," she said firmly.

He hoped so. A brief prayer rose on his lips, and Leliana joined him in her own quiet, accented voice.

"Cassandra was here," she added, when they were done.

He nodded at the message, but he didn't leave. "What will we do now?"

"Now we lay them to rest. In the Chantry garden, by the spreading tree, where she went at night when she couldn't find rest. Skyhold will be their marker," she said. Her eyes tightened. "And then the world will come to mourn a woman they never knew at all, and we will see what can be done."

* * *

He passed Varric and Sera on the way back down, making their own long pilgrimage to the silent quarters, though their grief made them invisible to one another. Cullen had only one destination, and he knew exactly where she would be.

Cassandra was impossible to miss in the yard. Her sword flashed and spun with terrifying speed around the dummy, a wild display that had the few other denizens of the early morning field picking targets well-away from her silver arcs. Cullen was in armor, but the decorative sort, the kind meant for meeting kings, so he circled carefully around in front of her and waited patiently for her to notice.

It took a long time.

At last she gasped in exhaustion and met his eyes, and he brought her a flask of water from the nearest table. She had no breath to thank him, but it didn't matter. He took her sword and shield without a word and held them as she drank and stretched. She was sweat-drenched and trembling, her hair matted down and dripping across her mail-clad shoulders. Those dark eyes were wild, and she resembled nothing so much as a terrified horse finally run itself out. He kept his distance, waiting.

"It is safe," she said eventually, briefly touching the metal over her midsection.

"I trust you."

She looked back across the yard, up the stone steps into the unwitting Hall. "I have no more patience for this life. I am not made for sitting quietly. I wish to act."

"I know."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he said softly. "She's gone."

"I didn't mean that. I want to fight. Send me somewhere, Inquisitor."

He caught her demanding gaze easily and returned it with a gentle look. "There are no more wars to be fought. Peace is a hard time to be the Commander."

She huffed a breath. "There is always a war. The Qunari. Venatori we haven't yet found. Bandit skirmishes in the Marches. I can fight them," she said.

Cullen said nothing, and Cassandra clenched her fists. "Grief without reprisal has no point," she said. "I refuse to give it a home. I refuse it categorically." But her face broke and wavered at the end, and he felt his own heart clench as she struggled back to angry blankness. It rested there, just for a minute, and then it was gone for good.

He dropped her weapons to give her his ungloved hands, cursing the armor that made true comfort impossible. But perhaps that was for the best, given the wild look still in her eyes. She squeezed them painfully, pressing the shape of her fingers into his skin, and he bit his lip against the bruises.

She noticed and loosened her grip. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," he said.

When she seemed under control again, he leaned down to retrieve her weapons, then handed them to her and drew his own sword. He stepped to the neighboring dummy and gave her an expectant look. She sighed and threw her shield behind the dummy as she turned to face it. Before he could begin his own swings she held up her free hand to stop him.

He obeyed, and she brought the hand down to her stomach once more. "Ellana," she said.

Cullen's throat tightened, but he nodded agreement. He moved back towards her and covered her hand with his own. "Anthony."

Her tears spilled over when she smiled, and this time she was the one to kiss him in the middle of the yard. Once she was satisfied, he took a long step back again. They fought beside each other, mindless but not lost, until a messenger came to tell him the rulers of Ferelden were waiting for an audience.

* * *

He'd expected a furious pair of rulers and possibly a spitting-mad witch. But he should have known Elissa would never be so obvious. When he strode into the Hall to meet their delegation, instead of drawn brows and formal manners, there were smiles and children.

And Rutherfords. He'd barely had time to register the unexpected youth in the room before Mia and Alice were flying at him with open arms. They hadn't spent enough time around soldiers to be wary, and Cullen saw Alistair run a hand over his mouth as they crashed into the metal of his armor. Cullen was more annoyed that the guards hadn't moved. "So you let people simply run at the Inquisitor, then?" he asked sharply. Had they protected Ellana this poorly the whole time? Under his watch?

"Sorry, sir," said the nearest one, saluting. "But I'd prefer to keep my breeches in place."

"They remember me!" said Alice with a broad grin.

Cullen sighed in resignation. "Find Darren, please. You know where he's likely to be. And knock this time, for all our sakes." He turned back to his sisters as a runner complied. "Why are you here?"

"A fine welcome," said Mia. She put her hands on her hips in her most mother-like way. "Their Highnesses wrote us that Darren was injured and offered to bring us along with them on their visit. Very gracious of them."

"Very gracious," he echoed in an even voice. Without ceremony, he turned to Elissa and Alistair. "And why are you here, Your Majesties?"

"Cullen, your manners!" hissed Mia. She obviously wanted to smack him, but his height and metal casing gave her few openings, thank the Maker.

Elissa smiled in tight amusement. "The family wanted a holiday," she said. She gestured sharply and her whispering children stopped immediately and arranged themselves in a line. "Ser Rutherford, may I present Crown Princess Eleanor, Prince Duncan and Princess Olivia."

All three greeted him with varying levels of gravity, and he tried his best to return it without rancor. "Your Highnesses," he said, bowing slightly.

"You're a knight?" asked Eleanor. "Have you fought a lot of men?"

Almost at the same moment, Duncan asked, "Is Leliana here?"

And rounding out the chorus, Olivia added, "Can I sit on that throne?"

Cullen blinked. "Yes," he said, looking at all of them in turn.

All three children exploded in whispers once more before Olivia ran to clamber on Skyhold's massive throne. The others followed, pushing each other out of the way and giggling, and Elissa jerked her head to Alistair. He sketched an exaggerated bow before joining his children. Within seconds all four were fighting a fierce competition to be Lord of the Throne.

The Queen ignored them and stepped closer. "We've also come for justice," she said in low tones.

Morrigan slid into view behind her, cold and dangerous, and Cullen tried not to shiver. "Justice has already been dispensed, by the Inquisitor herself. You and your family are welcome in Skyhold as friends, but don't expect our hospitality to extend farther."

"My man was injured, Commander," said Elissa. "I received no notice of any kind. Is this friendship?"

"It's Inquisitor, now," said Cullen with a snarl, fiercely pleased at the startled look in her eyes. So Darren hadn't told all that he could have. "Not enough spies to ferret that out?" He moved only a breath away from her, and he saw Alistair stand abruptly, no longer merry. "I don't appreciate my family being used as leverage against me, Your Majesty. Don't pretend you brought them for any reason but to remind me of your power over them."

He pitched his voice low enough that only Elissa and Morrigan could hear, though no one would miss the violence in his lines. The tension in the Hall was ratcheting up to unbearable levels, and he wondered vaguely if he'd just started a war. The anger churning inside him was out of control, completely off the leash, and all he could see were the still figures still laying above him. The world had gotten its Blighted justice already. How dare she threaten innocents to get more? He would burn them if he had to.

Then Cassandra stepped into the frame of the door, and his vision swiftly changed to her shielding a child as Ferelden marched.

His purpose collapsed under the image. What was he doing?

To his surprise Elissa stepped back and essayed a small curtsy. "My apologies, Inquisitor. I didn't mean to imply a threat. I thought Darren would appreciate his family near him," she said. She looked at him meaningfully. "I brought my own family as a promise of their safety."

So he hadn't been wrong about the message, but he'd read the wrong one. Cullen sighed and tried to get himself under control. "I'm the one who should apologize. I had no right."

"The Inquisitor has all rights," said Elissa, and his stomach twisted under the weight of that truth.

Alistair hadn't sat back down, but he looked less likely to attack someone as he moved back to his wife's side. Morrigan was clearly frustrated, water on a fast boil, but she fell back at Elissa signal. Mia and Alice were very still next to them, and he tried to smile reassuringly, with limited success. He hoped Josephine would show up soon. So far he hadn't done very well at being only decoration.

But when Cassandra moved to flank him as well, his own support, Mia's eyes narrowed as she looked at their hands. "You're married," she said accusingly. "Why didn't I know about this?"

It was very older-sister of her, and it broke the tension in a way nothing else could have. Alistair choked back a laugh as Mia advanced on him, and Cullen stepped back instinctively. "There wasn't time."

"No time to write a quick note to your family to let you know you were getting married?" she asked dangerously. She turned to Cassandra with another glare. "I'm glad you finally came to your senses, anyway. Or was it his promotion that decided you? Was he finally important enough for you?"

Cassandra's eyes took on a hunted look. "No! No, he was… he has always been…" She trailed off and looked at him pleadingly.

He tried to bring them back to sanity. "It was a misunderstanding, Mia. There's no need to be angry with her. Or me," he said. "Even if I'd sent a letter, you would have already been on the road. You wouldn't have gotten it."

"You didn't know that!" she said with her hands on her hips. "I'm your sister."

"But Darren didn't tell you either!" he protested, and regretted it immediately. Maker's breath. He was the Inquisitor, in the Great Hall, meeting royalty, and he'd resorted to bickering with his siblings. At least the guests were smiling. Even Morrigan looked a little amused.

Mia wasn't. "He is _injured._ "

"Only a bee sting," called a voice behind him, and he turned to see Darren striding into the room with most of his old power, trailed a little nervously by Dorian. "But it did stop me from holding a quill, of course."

Cullen's heart sank. It was obvious from the happiness on his face that Dorian didn't know. Cassandra gripped his hand, and he squeezed it in acknowledgment, but what could he do from here?

His sister finally abandoned her interrogation, pulling Alice behind her as they both tackled Darren. Mia clucked over his bandage in motherly concern while Alice teased Dorian into a very uncharacteristic blush. At her persistent urging, Darren gave the mage an exaggerating, smacking kiss before he could dodge away.

"I thought he hit a pillar," said Elissa quietly.

Cullen started. She'd stepped beside him so quietly he hadn't even sensed it. Instinctively, he checked her hand for a weapon and was relieved to find it empty. "He did. There was another fight. Another injury."

"During the dispensation of your justice?"

He nodded, but Morrigan joined them, unsatisfied. "Where is Mythal?" she demanded. "She destroyed the future of my son and the past of my mother, such as she was. I will not have her escape me again."

No Leliana. No Josephine. No advice from anyone, but Cassandra pressed her palm into his once more. She told the truth. She was honest. He knew what she would do. "She's in the Fade. Ellana saw to it," he said. "So is Fen'Harel. They won't return."

"The former Inquisitor could yet open it anew and release them," said Morrigan.

"No," he said. The denial boomed through the Hall, and he lowered his voice. "She can't."

Dorian looked up at the anger in his voice, just in time to see Varric, Sera and Josephine step out of the Inquisitor's quarters. Josephine looked calm, to strangers, but the puffiness of her eyes was obvious to Cullen. It must have been to Dorian as well, because the color drained from his face as understanding bloomed. He shook himself free of the Rutherfords and ran for the door. Varric blocked him, stopped him, and murmured something too low to hear. Dorian nodded and handed over his staff before he disappeared.

Cullen cleared his throat and blinked away emotion once more. "Darren, please take Mia and Alice to the quartermaster. He'll find them a room. Your Majesties, I'll show you to yours myself."

His family looked confused, and Cassandra didn't wait for him to ask before moving to talk to them. Elissa only nodded, and the Theirins followed him out of the room. Cassandra watched them as they left, and he tried to summon a cordial expression for her sake.

"I'm sorry," said Alistair on the stairs. He sounded sincere, though Cullen thought sourly that they'd likely nominated him to say it because he was the only one of them who could. "She seemed to be a good sort of person."

Cullen's blood would have boiled over at the casual, meaningless words if he hadn't seen the self-awareness on the King's face. Alistair hadn't known her, and he knew it. At least this platitude was offered with full awareness. "Thank you. She was the best sort of person."

The royal family flowed into the guest suite when they arrived, with Morrigan in a nearby room, but the Queen held Cullen in the hall. "So," she said, voice still even. "Inquisitor. A curious decision from your advisors. I have to admit I wouldn't have put such power in your hands."

"I didn't ask for it."

"Precisely. Nothing is more dangerous than absolute power in the hands of a person eager to give it away."

He flushed. "It seems that the only thing more dangerous is that power in the hands of those who want to keep it," he said bitterly.

If anything he would have expected anger, but there was none. Her eyes studied him gravely. "Can I be frank with you, Cullen?"

"I'd be amazed if you weren't."

"You don't seem to recognize your position. The Inquisitor holds more power than anyone in Thedas outside of the Divine, presuming you can hold your followers together. You're married to the woman who commands your forces and the loyalty of the Templars. Your brother is the lover of the future Archon, a powerful mage in his own right. And your child will be a potential heir to the Nevarran throne, a nation poised only to rise in power with the your elimination of their greatest threat. Prince Van Markham isn't one to sit idle, and he favors your Pentaghast wife."

Cullen only stared. She shrugged slightly. "The political situation is obvious. And I recognized the terrified look in Cassandra's eyes from my own mirror," she said. "You've gathered power and a potential dynasty to yourself. If you don't understand what you're holding, it will shatter."

"I just want to keep the world together," he said. This was reminding him far too much of Josephine's campaign to secure their own connections, but this time centered on him. "I don't want a dynasty."

"You might not get to choose."

He scowled. "Why are you telling me this? For all you know, I want to be the King of Ferelden, too."

"Just try it," she said coldly, and he shivered a little. Her expression slid back to neutrality far too quickly for comfort. "I never trusted Ellana Lavellan. She was brave and well-intentioned, but she was a bad judge of people. She trusted easily. Solas should never have gotten so close."

He didn't rise to the bait. "And I'm better?"

"No," she said. "You might be worse. But I know you, at least, and you have experience with failure she didn't. Most importantly, you're not holy. For all the things you are, you're a mortal man in the eyes of the world. Ellana had to keep her power. You have more choices." She sighed. "All I ask is that, when you give your power away, and I know you will, you think about what you're doing. And you do it well."

"And I should trust your advice?" He tried to sound world-wise and calculating, and she gave him a pitying smile.

"Ask Cassandra, if you need. In that area, at least, you judged very well."

* * *

There was no time to ask Cassandra much of anything, and he had little inclination to talk politics in any case. It seemed cruel that those most grieved should be the ones planning the memorial, particularly a memorial with so many security concerns, but they were. He and Josephine were occupied with invitations while Cassandra and Leliana argued over how many guards were needed. Tempers were high and frayed, and more than one session ended with a stony apology from a participant at the instruction of another. By the time he and Cassandra fell into bed at night, they didn't even have the energy for love, much less conversation.

The Fereldan delegation ended up being more consoling than he expected. They weren't touched by the tragedy, and they spoke normally around him when they ate their formal dinners. Alistair was the only one who could coax a smile out of Leliana, and even Cullen felt his spirits lightening.

"Do you want to be the Inquisitor?" he asked once, ignoring the exasperated look from Elissa. "You'd be good at getting everyone to get along."

Alistair shook his head emphatically. "I'm good at the dinner table. And the ballroom. When it comes to making friends with entire nations, I'm hopeless."

"Perhaps you could dance with every man and woman in Tevinter in turn," suggested Leliana.

Dorian let the comment go by without reply, and Darren rubbed his shoulder as the banter continued. Cullen's mind turned towards the next day. The memorial would take weeks to come together. But tomorrow they would have the funeral.

* * *

Eleven souls stood in the Chantry garden under the streaming sunlight. Cullen and Bull had spent their morning digging a grave as close to the tree as they dared, and the play of light through the leaves branded their skins in mottled, waving patterns. Guards kept the rest of Skyhold at bay, and the inner circle, complete no more, was finally alone.

Vivienne said the words of the Maker, and Bull said the words of the Dalish, or at least the ones he claimed he knew. Ellana would have laughed at the attempt, and that more than anything made it okay. Dorian, to Cullen's surprise, finished with a ritual of the Mortalitasi he'd learned, with Cassandra supplying their own words. When the mage saw his raised eyebrows, he only said, "A necromancer shouldn't be cavalier about the end of life," he said. "The Nevarrans were right about that at least."

They all looked to Cullen at the end for something more to say, and he had very little to offer. "Ellana Lavellan was our prisoner, then our hope, then our leader, then our friend. She saved us all. She made us family." He choked a little, and Cassandra pressed herself to his side. "If she'd done nothing else, I would praise the Maker for that. But she did so much more. Too much for words. We all know what she was."

He had no words for Solas, a man who'd been ally but never friend. Cole stepped forward and spoke softly. "Solas thought Fen'Harel was what he deserved. He was wrong, but I could never help him. Closed, clutching claws at his mind. But Ellana opened them. She was his compassion, and helped him remember. And he was her pride, and made her live."

Then there was nothing else to say, and each member trickled dirt down into the grave, onto the two bodies still holding one another. As the earth covered them, one shovelful at a time, Cullen looked up and saw birds watching from the tree. With a tear-filled laugh, he began to sing the song they'd sung so long ago, when Haven was gone and their hopes were lowest. Leliana joined, and soon they were all singing in ragged, aching chorus. The birds took to the sky, and the Herald of Andraste, the host of Mythal, and the only Inquisitor they'd needed, flew with them. And, Cullen knew with a fierce certainty, she carried them all alongside her.


	22. Fitting the Slipper

The world came to Skyhold.

It was easier than Cullen had expected. Two months from Ellana's passing, he still thought she'd burst into his office every day with some new idea, but each realization that she wouldn't held a little less pain than the last. He'd utterly refused to move into her quarters, however, and for now they were being used to store the gifts from the visitors who had already come.

These visitors weren't the heads of state that were coming now but pilgrims, holy believers who wanted to pray over the ground of their Herald. Vivienne had delicately tried to suppress the belief that Ellana would bless them from beyond, but some ideas lived in the bone, and once the news of her death had trickled over Thedas, the response had poured in. Cullen didn't have the heart to turn them away. Not when he and Cassandra spent so much of their own time on a bench in the garden, sitting quietly as they considered what came next.

Cullen wondered if Ellana had ever felt the same terror when people turned to her to shape the future of their world.

Then the dignitaries arrived in great waves, and Skyhold accommodated them as best it could. It had never been designed as a luxury palace, but somehow they found acceptable quarters for most of the world's leaders. It helped that some of those leaders were friend enough to volunteer for discomfort. Dorian was Archon by a vote of the Magisterium but happily bunked with his soldier. Elissa and Alistair claimed camping would remind them of their youthful days, and Hawke and Fenris lived in the tavern, occasionally stumbling away with the Chargers when they needed to be horizontal.

Even Dmitri took lesser quarters than he deserved. _King Van Markham_ , Cullen corrected himself. King Markus had been dead, for some time, with the Mortalitasi using him as a face for their takeover. Once the truth had been exposed, Dmitri stepped into his place easily. A little too easily, in Cullen's opinion, but what was done was done. Cassandra had made it known he had her support, and the Inquisition's, and the country hadn't objected to the downgrading of the Pentaghasts. The Pentaghasts themselves had been cowed into submission by their most headstrong member. And Cassandra didn't have to be the Queen.

The Nevarran royal was graciousness itself when Cullen and Cassandra met him at the gates. All of his masks were still in place, the ones that hid him as well as any shadow, but Cullen saw no hostility in his lines. Only the tight grip of his handshake betrayed the remnants of their tension.

When Cassandra was busy with the rest of his retinue, Dmitri leaned closed to Cullen. "So, you've won your prize."

Cullen's eyes flicked to his wife, but he said evenly, "There was no competition. There was only her will."

"Said like a man who didn't lose," said Dmitri with a flashing white smile. "I do consider it quite unsporting of you to almost die, however. What man could hold up against such drama?"

"I'll try to be in less peril, next time," said Cullen dryly.

Dmitri laughed. "I must admit that your victory is all the more complete for winning your enemies to your cause," he said. He paused with a gleam in his eye. "Forgive me, I do not know which address you now prefer. Inquisitor? Commander? Prince Pentaghast?"

"Excuse me?"

"In Nevarra it is custom for those marrying into the royal family to take the name of those they wed. To preserve the claim more easily," said Dmitri. "Thus, you are now prince by right. Did Cassandra not tell you?"

Cullen looked at Cassandra, still ordering people to the sections of camp they were meant for. "It must have slipped her mind."

"Of course. With everything that's happened," said Dmitri completely unconvincingly. "For now I will continue with Cullen, then. My friend."

When Cassandra made their way back to him he bowed and kissed her hand once more, emphasizing her title and grinning at Cullen's discomfiture. His grin only broadened when Dorian arrived to greet another ruler, and the two of them made their way to the tavern, leaving the newly befuddled royalty behind.

* * *

The memorial itself was interminable. The pomp and circumstance leeched it of any meaning it might have held, and the insistence of their visitors on speaking removed any relevance. Vivienne and Cullen stood at the dais for speeches, as was required by their positions, but they kept their remarks carefully impersonal. The rest of the inner circle was there, some like Sera under threat of pain, but even Josephine hadn't wanted them to speak. Instead Empress Celene, the Antivan merchants, Grand Clerics, amd even King Alistair stood and made the usual comments. How the Inquisitor was an inspiration. How she'd taken them out of a dark time and into the light. How to carry on her legacy. The subtle undercurrent being, of course, that her legacy was best carried by themselves.

It all made Cullen's sword hand itch. And none of them ever mentioned Solas.

Instead of imagining ways to end the memorial in decisive fashion, he turned his focus to the gathered watchers. Skyhold's inner walls hadn't been nearly enough to contain all who wished to be there, and the Inquisition soldiers and woodworkers had cleared away a large section of land nearby. Cullen had left the delicate task of assigning seating to the diplomats, but even he knew the closer they sat, the more important they thought they were. And so it was in the fringes, past the comfortable chairs to where the rest of the crowd stood, that the real emotion lived.

He recognized cooks and kitchenmaids as they sniffed into their handkerchiefs. Off-duty soldiers watched stiffly, their hands clenched on invisible weaponry. Servants, minstrels, even the bartender and his servers clustered in tight circles of grief still raw enough to chafe. When Cullen's eyes lit on Harding, sobbing openly, he remembered the quiet little notes of concern she'd added to her reports whenever Ellana had made contact with them in a newly scouted area.

_The Inquisitor looks like she might be a little tired. Perhaps she deserves a rest on her return._ Or _Please tell the Inquisitor that she doesn't need to search every corner of this desert on her own._ By the end, the notes had lost all traces of formality and said things like _Ellana is being as stubborn as a druffalo. Order her butt back to Skyhold, Commander._

The memory of Ellana's casual removal of Harding's shy formality, the way she'd simply been what everyone needed, brought him closer to tears than anything else could have. All of these people who loved her, watching. And all of the people who only loved what she represented, talking.

He swept his eyes across the inner circle, the different people who'd been brought together by her vision. The outer crowd was the same, a mingling of elf and human and dwarf, Orlesian and Marcher, Templar and mage, even a handful of Tal-Vashoth standing like beacons among the rest. The only wonder was that she hadn't recruited a darkspawn to their cause, by the end.

The guests on the chairs sat isolated in the groups they'd brought, surrounded by their retinues. As the generic words of the Prince of Starkhaven washed over him, Cullen's eyes continued to move from group to group, considering their meaning. And the new Inquisitor thought about what might be done.

* * *

There was very little difference between an informal salon and a war party when there were this many titles in the room, Cullen realized later. Josephine could have told him, he supposed, but if he'd known he might not have come at all.

Then again, at least war was something he understood.

Most of the little wars were polite and icy. Elissa and Celene exchanged veiled pleasantries, dancing around the topic of border incursions in Southern Ferelden. The dwarven representatives argued directly with Vivienne and Cassandra about lyrium supplies, but the rancor was muffled by the gold oozing around the words. Sebastian and Dmitri were engaged in a debate over the morality of taxation, with the burr in the former's voice rising and falling with his offense level.

So it was civil, on the whole. Most of the attendees knew the game they were playing. But when Cullen wandered over to the corner Hawke had claimed, he winced to see Dorian settled opposite her and her companion. Fenris had never been accused of an excess of tact. "How many slaves made those fancy clothes, magister?" he asked Dorian as Cullen came into earshot.

"It's Dorian, actually," he said easily. "And there were several. But I assure you they were quite pleased to do it."

"Amazing that you're so certain."

"Oh yes, it was easy to tell. They rattled their chains in the happiest of rhythms as they worked," said Dorian dryly. "Or perhaps I spoke to them directly. With words. House Pavus's slaves are well-quartered, educated, and I dare say happier than most of your Kirwall peasants. Or even the middle class. And they do enjoy the challenge of topping my sartorial audacity."

"Well if they told you they were pleased, that's perfectly fine. Because it's easy to be honest with your jailers," said Hawke. For once her face was deadly serious. "I expected better of you, Dorian. You have the power to change things, and you prefer to trap people into making clothing for you."

"My dear Hawke, I don't trap anyone," said Dorian, his light words undercut by the angry flash of magic across his skin. Fenris began to glow, and the rest of the room fell silent as they turned to watch.

Cullen slashed a hand between them. "Enough," he said. He tried to put battlefield thunder in his voice, but neither man responded. "This isn't the time. Dorian, stop provoking them. Fenris, stop doing whatever it is you're doing."

Fenris turned to him with a sleepy gaze and stood. The rumble of his voice was soothing as he said conversationally, "I could rip your heart out, you know. After the magister's, of course."

"Not that kind of party, Broody," said Varric from Cullen's elbow. Darren also drifted away from his conversation with an Antivan dignitary to join the growing scrum.

The elf snarled, glow persisting. "So you side with the slavers now."

Varric cocked his head to the side. "I side with whatever gets everyone out of the room alive. 'Death At a Memorial' might make a good serial title, but it's not a personal goal," he said. "Killer, please control your date."

Fenris's eyes flashed dangerously, and Hawke stood as well. Cullen looked around to make sure there were guards in place, then stepped between the combatants.

"I don't think that helped," mumbled Sera around a mouthful of ham. She swallowed, then leaned her elbows on Varric's head. "Is that glow like the Inquisitor glow or some other kind of glow? He doesn't look very holy. Maybe it's some kind of elf thing." She groaned. "Andraste's tits, that's not going to happen to me someday, is it? Please say it won't."

"Hm, I think you'd look good," said Bull thoughtfully. "Sort of like an avenging archer woman fury thing. Might ruin your stealth shit a little. But hey, it would round out the collection. Glowing elf throwing fireballs. Glowing elf with a big-ass sword. Glowing elf girl with a bow and arrow. Nice symmetry there."

"But how would I sleep? I'd try to close my eyes, but it would be like daytime all the time, yeah?" asked Sera. She turned back to Fenris, whose fury had given way to mere irritation. "How do you do it? Does it like, turn on and off?"

Cullen rubbed his temple as the rest of the room stared in bewilderment. Except for Josephine, who was simply glaring. He could almost hear Ellana laughing at them all, egging them on, even joining in herself. _You made them this way,_ he thought. _Thanks for that._

His thanks became more genuine as Fenris's skin faded back to its usual color. The Inquisition fought its battles unconventionally, but they did usually win. Varric smiled. "Excellent. Now, Dorian, try to find that small part of yourself that's not a provocative asshole and tell them."

"I'll try, but it really is a very small part," said Dorian. He was still seated and back to his usual imperturbable self. He steepled his fingers sternly and leaned forward. "Upon my return to Tevinter, I will find a comprehensive and exhaustive report on the state of the various slave owners in Minrathous waiting for me. This includes the care they do, or do not, take of the lives they hold. And believe me there will be repercussions for those who lack the courtesy of my own house. In addition, slave auctions will be replaced by a more voluntary form of service contracts. They will be limited in scope compared to what you wish, I'm sure, and it's only one city thus far, but the Imperium's economy requires a different hand than that of the Marches."

Hawke snorted. "Voluntary. I'm sure," she said. "This is just slavery with a better face."

Dorian raised his eyebrows. "I was going to offer the job of ensuring the well-being of the slaves to your lover," he said, turning to Fenris. "And, of course, the just punishment of those who were shown to be resistant. But if you're not interested…"

"You'd trust me in the Imperium," said Fenris flatly. "Among the magisters. Who, I can assure you, will loathe this."

"There are more who want change than you might believe. They merely lacked the power to address it. My charm, and the Inquisition's forces backing it, have given them a voice."

Hawke looked skeptical but said nothing.

"As for you, I believe you have honor. Your fight has not been as bloody as it could have been. Ellana showed me that trust has to begin somewhere." Dorian smiled at Elissa's loud sigh. "Yes, Your Highness, I know you do so dread that little word. But she trusted me. She trusted my father, a thing even I couldn't do. She was my closest friend. And she hated the enslavement of her people in my land. I can't stop it all. And I truly do believe that their portion of happiness is not so small as some would believe it. But I promised her that I would try to improve things. I'd appreciate your help, Fenris."

"I'll consider it," said Fenris.

"Excellent."

Maker's breath. "Why didn't you just say that at the beginning?" asked Cullen, more than a little annoyed.

The mage laughed. "And miss the chance to have such a gorgeous elf truly inside of me? You know me better than that."

"Dorian!" hissed Josephine, and Darren slapped him across the back of the head with a hand that wasn't as gentle as it could have been. Hawke didn't even try to contain her amusement as Fenris growled something under his breath. Bull, Sera, and Varric also grinned hugely, and even Cassandra almost had a smile on her face. That relaxed Cullen, just a little. If she thought it was funny, it couldn't be all bad.

Leliana caught his eye and gestured subtly at the room. He stared at her, dumbfounded. One day he would get used to the Nightingale knowing everything he was thinking before he thought of it. But clearly it wasn't today. She was right, though. This was the time to say what he'd been planning. He only prayed Cassandra would still be speaking to him at the end of it.

He clapped his hands loudly and turned in a slow circle to make sure everyone was watching. The giggles and murmurs faded away as he got the hush he was looking for. Elissa's eyes were piercing, suspicious, and he turned away. _Look at Cassandra. If you convince her, you convince everyone._

With a start he saw the Keeper of Lavellan standing beside his wife. The man was young, younger than he'd expected from his conversations with the Dalish members of the Inquisition about their clans, and he'd said very little throughout the day. Leliana had judged him a non-threat, and she was usually right, but Solas loomed large in his mind. She hadn't been right there. Not at all.

Cullen shook his head. Worry about that later. Cassandra had already moved to keep the man in her eyesight, and she could take care of herself. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly. "I appreciate your attendance here today. Ellana would have been honored by your attentions." A lie, but one that rolled away easily. "But it would be remiss of me, of us all, to gather together so many exalted heads of state without discussing seriously the future of Thedas."

He braced himself for a joke from the less reverent members of the Inquisition, but they watched him solemnly for once. Well, mostly solemnly. Sera was smirking in a way that told him she was going to give him a mockingly pompous speech later, but he could live with that as long as she was quiet now. "We've just come through some of the worst trials our world has seen in centuries. Blights. Wars, magical and otherwise. Terrorism against the Chantry. And occasionally by the Chantry," he said. Vivienne folded her arms in the corner of his vision, and he sighed. "The point is we've survived them. Together.

"I look back on these moments in our shared history and a pattern emerges. The disasters were localized, but the response never was," he said. He pointed at Elissa. "The Hero of Ferelden may have struck the blow to end the Blight, but she arrived there through a coalition of many. An Orlesian and a Fereldan and an Antivan fought alongside her on the Tower. Elves and dwarves guarded the bridge, fought through the city, bled and died for a cause that was bigger than their differences. Noble and common banded together in the ranks. Mages fought with honor and used their magic to save this world."

He looked to the floor. "I regret that my inability to understand this truth caused the Templars to turn aside. We weren't there for Thedas when we were needed. I still saw enemies where there could have been allies, and I kept the Templars isolated and separate. This was my failing, and the lives that weren't saved will always be with me."

Cassandra and Elissa wore twin expressions of exasperation. Cassandra's lips practically moved as her eyes said, _Too hard on yourself, as always_ , but Leliana only nodded at him. She understood the cost of making the wrong choice better than these noble warriors did. They'd always made the right ones.

"In Kirkwall, it was the same," he continued after a slight pause. "The Champion struck the blow against the Arishok, and again against the corrupted mage and Templar who'd lost their ways, but it was only through the aid of others that she was empowered to do so. Her time in the city was marked with compromise. She worked with both the Templars worthy of the name and the mages who deserved better than they had. Elf and dwarf and pirate and prince. The worthy always had a place with her. And Hawke is many things, but she is always a good judge of worth."

Hawke looked at him with wide eyes as Fenris pulled her to his side. Cullen smiled slightly. "After the battle was done, like the Hero and her husband in Denerim, like all of the people who'd joined their causes, the Champion stayed. They all stayed. They weren't coalitions for fighting. They were for surviving. And for preserving what remained."

Cullen paused again, looking at the faces around him. Skepticism. A little confusion. But some understanding. Some dawns of ideas. And, even more hopeful, a few in fierce agreement.

"The Inquisition was this idea realized in full. The problem was a hole in the sky. The solution spread across Thedas. And in this place, the world found its voice," he said. "Not just the ones in this room, but all of the people who wanted to make things better.

"I've fought alongside your people for years. They're brave. They're convicted. They have a purpose that shames even me. I'm shamed further that only the loss of the Inquisitor showed me what it meant," he said. He searched out a familiar pair of eyes and held them. Dark, and beautiful, and full of trust. "Ambassador Montilyet commented once that the Inquisition had parts of almost every nation in Thedas. But that was the wrong way around. You aren't a part of us. We're a part of you. We've grown together, bound together not by politics, not by me or Ellana Lavellan or even Corypheus, but by the common decency of soldiers and kitchenmaids and stonemasons and hostlers."

He gestured to the windows, closed but still not a shield against the hums of the less powerful attendees gathered in the courtyards. "Your people were hungry for this. They still are. For a world that had a rightness for everyone, not just everyone behind a border. Will we fail them? Go back to our old ways? Or will we find something within ourselves that they've already found? A place where a former slave can make the lives of new slaves better?" he asked, gesturing to Fenris. "Not the world as it was, and not the world as it could have been, but a world that's never even been dreamed?"

Empress Celene stepped forward, masked as usual, and said in careful tones, "And this unified world would fall under your control? The Inquisition holds great power, as we all know."

Cullen bit back a groan of frustration. Maybe it was impossible for people so rooted in power to see anything else.

Then Cassandra spoke quietly. "I think the Inquisitor is proposing exactly the opposite, Your Majesty. Centralized power has proven disastrous in all its attempted forms throughout history. Even the Chantry recognizes the need for the balance of the Divine's Hands," she said. She sighed. "The future of Thedas cannot be spoken of without consideration for the future of the Inquisition. But I believe the deeper question facing us is whether the Inquisition should have a future at all."

She gazed at him steadily, no anger on her face, and he tried to send her a thought. _I'm sorry. The Inquisition is yours, and I'm sorry._ Her expression didn't change, but her fingers brushed her abdomen, just slightly, and he relaxed. She understood him. This was the world he wanted to build. Not for them, but for the life she carried. And she wanted what he wanted, without reservation.

Maker he loved this woman.

His mind snapped back to the task at hand as Dmitri's voice rose. "The Inquisition will lay aside its arms once more?" He made no effort to hide his skepticism. "You have the largest army in the world. Where will they go? Back home? Create another group of Seekers and Templars?"

Cullen shook his head. "No. That will break their unity, and cause chaos in the process. The forces stay together. And your countries remain. But there's no more Inquisitor. No more advisors behind fortress walls. A council of you making the decisions for the world. Not of us."

"You expect us all to simply agree with each other on what's right?" asked Elissa incredulously. "We'll be arguing for days on even the simplest decisions."

"Then argue," he said tightly. "Fight as long as you need with words to avoid fighting with your people. Let them live." He ran a hand through his hair and across his neck. "My siblings and I never agree on anything. And yet we agree on everything that matters. You see who I love," he said, nodding to Cassandra. "And you see where my brother's affections lie."

Dorian waved jauntily to the crowd.

"We could not have chosen more differently for ourselves. And yet we don't war over those choices. In the same way our countries could not be more different. But that doesn't mean we have nothing in common."

"All well and good, but when your verbal fighting's settled, who's gonna enforce whatever's left standing?" asked a dwarf with a beard even more luxurious than Blackwall's. "I bet even your family's got a veto holder."

"You've got that right," muttered Darren.

Cullen glared at him before turning back to the speaker. "What do you recommend?"

Silence fell for a moment before a chorus of voices volunteered for the duty. An argument quickly broke out, then fractured into deeper arguments, no longer polite and icy but full and heated. Cullen shifted on his feet, unsure if this was a sign things were working or things were about to explode in his face.

Darren sidled up to him. "Well, you've definitely got the family dynamics down. Remember that time that you let all the pigs out of the sty because you wanted to see if you could get them back in again? And you couldn't? And we had guests for dinner that night? I'm certainly remembering it right now."

"Be quiet," said Cullen irritably.

"It was a very good speech, though," said Darren more kindly. "You've got my vote, if we have one. If I even get a vote." He frowned. "And don't worry, you'll get Dorian's vote, too. I'll make sure of it."

"Please don't tell me how."

"Okay," said his brother. "But let me ask you something. Do you know if there's anyone here who has fake elf ears to loan me?"

Cullen's head whipped around in shock, but his brother looked perfectly serious. "Bull probably knows," he said to himself and wandered away.

He barely noticed when his wife joined him, but Cullen tried to find himself again when he saw Lavellan's Keeper with her. "Ser," he said, bowing. Why hadn't he ever asked Ellana what the right honorific was? He thought back to her conversations with Solas. "I'm pleased you could join us, _hahren_ ," he added, praying it wasn't an endearment.

The Keeper looked startled, then laughed. "Thank you, Inquisitor. But there is no need for such formality. You may call me Tiren. Or Keeper, if you must," he said. "But I hope you will not. Not if we are to be family."

There was a faint question in his voice, and Cullen answered it quickly. "The Dalish would of course be included as equals. Those who wish to be. I know that the clans don't all speak with one voice."

Josephine and Leliana drew in around them as the Keeper nodded. "Much as the rest of the land does not. Or possibly did not, depending on the outcome here. But in this, I believe, there would be interest from many of our clans. For self-preservation, if nothing else. A combination of the world could crush us completely, if it chose."

"I won't let that happen."

"How will you stop it?" asked Tiren. "Your power is already flowing away like the water in a stream."

Cullen looked him in the eye. "I won't let it happen."

The Keeper smiled again. "I see why Lavellan's daughter thought so highly of you," he said. "You are much alike."

"A compliment greater than I deserve." If it had been meant as a compliment. Cullen hadn't forgotten Ellana's words.

The other man must have read it on his face. "Ellana might not have believed it to be a compliment, though it was meant as such," he said. "I have great respect for her. She was born into the wrong place, but she grew into the right one." He reached into his pocket and drew out a bundle of papers. "She wrote to me before her death. Lavellan doesn't mourn in this fashion, but she begged me to come to this gathering. I think she hoped you would make the choice you are making and wished me to speak for The People. And to see you and bear witness to your acts."

"Me?" asked Cullen.

Tiren nodded. "Lavellan has always known the movement of the world outside the Dalish affects us, whether we desire it or not. We sent someone to the Conclave for this reason. But to know that a thing will touch you and to believe it to be worthy of doing so are two different things. Ellana thought us cynical, and so I sent her to teach her the true ways of humans," he said. He smiled ruefully. "It seems I am the one who must learn a lesson."

"The elves have reason to distrust," said Leliana quietly.

"Reasons too easily turn into excuses for those who do not wish to change," said Tiren. "It's good to know there are those in the world who are not chained only to what is."

Cassandra snorted and gestured to the still-arguing throng around them. "And those who still are."

But the noise was fading a little as more and more groups combined, finding allies and compromises. After a few more minutes, Elissa stepped forward. "We've reached a consensus. Mostly," she added as Empress Celene coughed. "It's clear none of us can hold controlling power over the others. Trust," she said with wry emphasis, "is beyond us."

"You'll have to trust someone," said Cassandra.

"Yes," she said. "Namely, all of you. The Inquisitor was very eloquent on the subject of your representative coalition. Moreover, you've shown the ability to hold power and the wisdom to set it aside with care." Celene coughed again, and Elissa glowered at her. The Queen of Ferelden's tones grew icy. "A wisdom that some people are still trying to learn."

Cullen was still lost. "So you want the new non-Inquisition to be… the Inquisition?"

Alistair laughed. "Put that way it does sound rather silly it took us so much arguing to get there. But in my experience, committees are nothing if not silly. Congratulations, Thedas Council. Thedosian Overseers? Watchers of the World?" He looked at Darren, who shrugged. "We'll work on that."

"There are two other conditions," said Dmitri. "One is that Divine Victoria and the Archon are excluded from the new council. They represent their own interests too strongly. Two is that you cannot operate from Skyhold. It's too much a seat of power." He crossed his arms. "We propose an exchange of sorts. Each country welcoming whichever members will come. And you will be free to meet, communicate, and operate much as you are now, freely throughout our countries, only with your decisions subject to the oversight of us all."

Cullen sighed. Another new home. But he saw the wisdom in it and nodded after a quick look at the rest of the group.

Dorian raised his hand. "Tevinter is more than pleased to welcome a Fereldan to its ranks, but it will also take an oaf of a Tal-Vashoth as long as he promises to stop calling everyone a Vint," he said.

Bull shook his head. "The Chargers are mine. I don't move without them. Vint."

"Bring them along, then," said Dorian, glaring. "I'd been meaning to get Krem's advice anyway."

"And Ferelden welcomes Orlais," said Elissa with a small smile at Leliana. "And Antiva, if needed."

Celene frowned. "I wish Lady Montilyet to join my court."

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Fine. And Antiva, on occasion."

"I want Sera!" said Hawke. Fenris stared at her in horror as she grinned like a cat. "She'll fit right in at our house."

The rest of the room chimed in. The dwarves didn't want anyone to sully their grounds, but they were open to news and access. The Antivan merchants were more than interested in Varric's presence, and Blackwall agreed to stay in the Anderfels. Dmitri claimed Cullen and Cassandra with a glee that made Cullen very nervous. He almost asked if he could reconsider, until Lavellan's Keeper spoke quietly.

"I was not included in the discussion, but I agree with the wisdom these leaders have shown," he said. "I've been empowered to speak for many clans, and if you will assure our full participation, I will speak for them with you in perpetuity."

Most nodded, but the Orlesian masks remained stubbornly still. "Do it, Celene," said Alistair, a touch of exasperation in his voice. "The Dalish saved us all, if you think about it. Stop playing The Game and start ruling."

"Very well," she said after a minute, inclining her head gracefully. "We offer our assurances."

The room relaxed a little, but Josephine whispered, "I'll keep an eye on that one."

Cullen nodded and lifted his hand for quiet once again. "As for our own part, I propose that Skyhold be given to the elves for their own use once the Inquisition has removed itself. It was originally theirs."

Surprised murmurs ran through the room, and Vivienne stepped forward. "This is a place holy to the Chantry, my dear. Not the elves."

"Halamshiral is holy to the elves," he countered. "We all live in holy places that aren't our own. And if the Maker is anywhere, He is everywhere."

She smiled appreciatively, and Leliana couldn't stop a chuckle. "Well said," said Vivienne. "I suppose I must concede. However, I request that the Dalish allow access to the site for those pilgrims who wish to commune."

Tiren nodded. "It would be ungracious to refuse," he said. "And for our part, we will welcome the heart of the Inquisition."

Cullen's throat tightened, thinking of the grave in the Chantry already flowering over, but Tiren looked to the corner of the room. "Cole. Will you join into Lavellan?"

A slight figure in a floppy slid out of the shadows and back into view. Cullen started guiltily, and he saw Josephine flinch as well. He'd completely forgotten about the boy, and by the look on his face, Cole knew it.

"I'm not an elf," he said, still and grave. "And my face has no pictures."

The Keeper smiled softly. "The _vallaslin_ do not make us who we are," he said. "They say Ellana's face was bare as well, in the end, but she was still Lavellan." He studied the unmoving boy. "She told me about you. She said you were the one who found her when she was lost and soothed her when she was afraid. She loved you very much, and she was insistent that you be remembered. You were a brother to her. Ellana would wish you to be a part of us."

Happiness rose on Cole's face like the sun breaking through the clouds, and Cullen heard Cassandra's breath catch in her throat. He gripped her hand, and he blinked away tears as Cole took a small, hesitant step towards the elven man. "If I stay, may I have a cat?"

Tiren laughed. "Of course," he said. His expression grew serious. "Only you should have two. It's never good to have only one. Every creature needs companions."

Cole nodded. "Yes," he said. He looked around the room and his eyes fell on them all in turn. He stopped on Cullen, blinding in his joy. "We need companions. And I have two families, now."


	23. Once Upon a Time

Nearly a year after Ellana and Solas had passed into the next life, Cullen found himself at another ball. This one was in Orlais, back at the Winter Palace, but he didn't mind this visit nearly so much thanks to some key differences. Namely, there was no assassination plot to thwart, he would officially relinquish his title of Inquisitor at the end of the night, and he would retire to his room quietly with his wife instead of running from pursuing Orlesian nobles.

Not that Dorian was being reassuring on the last point. He'd wandered into Cullen's room early in the night to get ready away from his lover's prying eyes. And hands. And he'd been holding court ever since. "Cullen, of course they'll still be pursuing you. A marriage in Orlais only makes the man, or woman, more enticing to his, or her, seducers," he said as he arranged his jacket to his liking.

"Are you saying someone is going to try to seduce Cassandra?"

"Undoubtedly, but she'll knee them in their most sensitive areas and that will be that. You, on the other hand, will stammer and blush and look so deliciously bashful that they'll practically be foaming at the mouth," he said. "Ellana told me about your performance the last time."

Cullen cursed the redness rising to his cheeks as Dorian laughed. He shook his head to clear it away. "Well then, it's good I'll be wearing a mask," he said, grabbing the golden object off of the table. He put it on in one swift movement, then stood back for inspection.

Dorian's eyes widened. "Wait? Who are you? Where's the Inquisitor?" Cullen glared as he took off the mask again, and Dorian held up his hands. "I'm sorry, but your scar is still visible. No one will be fooled."

"No one who knows me already. But my would-be admirers won't know about my scar," said Cullen. "What?" he demanded when the mage shook his head.

"Oh Cullen. They all know about it. It's all they talk about. It's in a very kissable location."

Cullen groaned and tried to change the subject. He looked appraisingly at Dorian. "Why are you so fully-clothed? Tevinter finally demand decorum from their Archon?"

"Of course not. They love my daring fashion," he said. "Much more than my daring domestic policies, that's for sure."

The way he emphasized "domestic" had Cullen's stomach knotting. "What have you done now?"

Dorian smiled nervously. "Well, I may have received some support for my bid by assuring the Magisterium that my preferences would leave them free to choose another, in the fullness of time, due to my lack of heirs."

"And?"

"And your brother wants children," he said. He narrowed his eyes. "I blame you. Anthony is far too adorable. It put notions in his head."

"Thank you," said Cullen smugly. He did have the smartest and most lovable son in Thedas, by any objective measure.

Dorian folded his arms. "I keep telling him that there's no way our child will look so much like Cassandra, but he won't listen." He smirked at Cullen's growl. "Anyway, since the usual methods of childbearing aren't open to us, outside of blood magic, Darren has been spending his time searching for a suitable partner."

Cullen choked. "Excuse me?"

"I have no interest in that side of things, but Darren is more flexible. If he finds a woman amenable, and I approve, then there will be a new Pavus. Of a sort." Dorian spoke confidently, but his eyes didn't meet Cullen's.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Cullen. He strode over and took Dorian by the arm. "If you're not comfortable, you should tell him."

"It's not the most comfortable I've ever been, but he knows that. He's been very considerate," said Dorian. "And I have to admit that, while I find potential children terrifying, they're less terrifying when they're his."

Cullen nodded and stepped back. "Well, I can see why the Magisterium might be less than pleased. We'll divert some more troops to Tevinter to guard you from any rogue elements. Just in case," he said. He hesitated for a second. "And you'll be okay with Darren doing, well, that, with someone else?"

Dorian smiled. "Oh, I'll be there. Like I said, the woman needs to be very amenable," he said. His face softened. "Besides, I would do anything to see him happy."

Cullen tugged at his own clothing, straightening wrinkles that hadn't had time to form, and sighed. "I know what you mean."

* * *

Another saving grace of this ball was that he'd convinced Celene that announcements were unnecessary. The coalition of nations was working as well as could be expected, with a slight patina of trust spreading across the world. Leliana had her hands full monitoring the spy networks that had sprung up to guard against perfidy, while pretending she didn't know anything about them, but she said that their activity was lessening as time went on. Of course, the last whisper of the Inquisition might trigger new suspicions, but they had people in place. He hoped.

It had given him the leverage he needed, though. If he was being retired, he'd argued, then it was counter-productive to make him the center of attention again. And in a world where the nations were coming together, announcements would only underscore their differences. It hadn't taken much to convince her, and between that and the mask he entered the room in relative anonymity.

And relative confusion. The room was a riot of color, littered with even more people than the one at Lothering. It seemed like every person from every nation had received and accepted an invitation. The dancers whirled around the floor below him like gems spilled out of a woman's jewelry box, mixing and glancing past each other in sparkling winks of light. The men wore dark suits with wide jackets, much like Dorian's, but they were all lined with a different color that flashed and teased out as they spun. The effect was beautiful but overwhelming, and Cullen had to look away.

He glanced down at his own clothing. He wore no jacket, only a tightly cut white tunic with flowing sleeves. It was a very specific look, for a very specific purpose, and from the way a group of women near him were giggling, he knew he'd succeeded.

But they weren't the women he was looking for. His eyes roved through the throngs of dancers and well-wishers and strangers until he saw a trio of ladies standing near a window across the way. They were all masked as well, but he knew Leliana and Josephine better than his own sisters. And Cassandra, with her straight back, long lines, and dark hair wound into a crown, was always unmistakable.

Cullen's breath stopped as he realized she was wearing her shimmering Lothering gown. The slit up the side called to him, and he pushed past the nearest members of the crowd with a speed that bordered on rudeness.

When he was near enough to hear her voice, almost near enough to scent that lovely soap he still smelled every morning as he breathed thankfulness, he slowed, suddenly nervous. This was ridiculous. An idea that had seemed enchanting when Leliana and Josephine had him half-into a bottle of wine had become more and more insane with each passing day, and Cullen was going to make a fool of himself.

Then Leliana saw him, and it was too late. She dashed over and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the other two women with unseemly enthusiasm. Several revelers blocked their progress, and they arrived in a confused tangle of limbs. Cullen realized too late that his mask might cover his face, but the red patches on his neck would be all too visible.

Eventually they sorted themselves out, and Leliana said formally, "My lady, please allow me to introduce you. Prince Rutherford, this is Princess Pentaghast, of Nevarra."

Cassandra's eyes were wide behind her mask, a delicate blue lace that hid just enough, and he felt the blush spreading down to his chest. He covered it by taking her outstretched hand, a hand she'd extended seemingly without thought, and bending to graze it with his lips. "Princess," he said quietly, and he felt her shiver.

She bobbed elegantly in reply to his greeting. Her gaze never left his own, and every thought he'd had flew out of his mind. Josephine urged him on behind her, but the words wouldn't come. Only when he realized he was still holding her hand did he move, dropping it quickly and clenching his own at a fist by his side. Maker's breath, he was married to this woman. They had a child. How could he be so nervous?

"Forgive me," he said, a single tremor running through his voice. "I never know quite what to say in the face of beauty."

Leliana clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, and Josephine fought valiantly to keep a straight face. He cut them both a quick look before focusing back on Cassandra.

She politely pretended not to notice their antics. "I suspect your skill is greater than you pretend, Your Highness," she said. Her eyes sparkled at the last, and he smiled crookedly in reply. He noticed with amusement her eyes followed the scar above his lip, and chalked one up for Dorian. Cassandra shook herself and added, "Your clothing reminds me very much of something."

He tried not to fidget as she studied the length of him. Eventually she laughed in startled delight. "There is a book. A story of a ball. And a prince," she said. She tilted her head. "Do you know it?"

Cullen frowned. Of course he did. They'd read it together long ago, during their first, secret marriage. A woman at the ball met a handsome, strange prince behind a mask. They'd fallen in love at first sight, and gotten married after a whole book of confusion. It had been her favorite, and he caught her reading it alone several times after. He'd teased her about it, then terrified himself with it as it almost came true.

Then he understood. She was playing her character, too. This was flirting. He almost laughed aloud. Had he ever flirted with Cassandra? Not like this. He'd made love to her before he'd known he should be flirting.

He nodded instead. "I am. And I believe the prince asks the most alluring woman at the ball to dance," he said. He bowed once more. "So can I persuade you to join me, Princess Pentaghast?"

Surprise crossed what he could see of her face, but she smiled. "I would be delighted."

Cullen took her proffered hands in his own and led her carefully down the stairs. He waited on the side of the floor, watching Leliana navigate her way to the orchestra's leader. To stall for time, he leaned in close to Cassandra's ear. "I would be remiss if I didn't mention how perfectly that gown suits you, Lady."

"Thank you. My lover has often admired it," she said.

"Ah, you have a lover? Tell me, what is he like?"

She smiled before falling back in to coquettish blankness. "Oh, he's quite handsome. An excellent fighter, with perfect shoulders and a beautiful chest. Designed to be touched and admired. He's charming, and intelligent, and romantic, and chivalrous. And quite insatiable in the bedroom. It's difficult to keep up with him," she said.

He leaned in close enough for her to feel his breath across her ear. "We have a lot in common, then. I find myself quiite inspired by you. I wonder if you taste as good as you look."

Cullen grinned at the strangled sound in her throat, and she moved to elbow him. He leaned away from her, then caught her with a strong hand around her waist as she stumbled. "Careful," he said, rubbing his palm over her hip. "It wouldn't do to twist your delicate ankle before the dance."

"My ankles are perfectly sound," she said indignantly, trying to slide away, but he put a finger on her lips. She stared at him, startled, and something dark flashed deep in her eyes as she parted her mouth to let him drag it along her lower lip. Maker those eyes were captivating.

"Cassandra," he murmured, completely lost in her.

She pulled back. "So familiar already," she said, more than a hint of breath in her tone.

"Not as much as I want to be," he said with a hint of a growl. He looked away with an effort and saw Leliana signaling him. He stepped back and lifted his hand. "Shall we?"

She took his hand and followed him to the floor, the look of surprise back on her face. When he settled her into a traditional waltz hold, she gave him an incredulous look. "You dance?"

"We dance," he said. And when the music started, they did.

Granted he was counting in his head desperately, terrified of stepping on her, but she followed him well enough, even through the passage where he turned the wrong direction and had to pick up the thread on the other side of an improvised movement. He'd never been so grateful for her warrior's grace.

Once he stopped trying to impress her with his carefully learned moves, they settled into a simpler pattern and he relaxed. Leliana and Dorian had done their best in their lessons, but it was somehow easier with Cassandra. Everything was.

"So when you said you needed to travel ahead to take care of pressing matters?" she asked quietly.

"I did say matters. Plural," he answered. He curled his hand around the back of her neck. "What prince attends a ball without dancing with its most shining jewel?"

She rolled her eyes, but he didn't miss the flush that danced up her cheeks. They turned quietly again, settling sweetly inside each others' silence. Cullen saw Iron Bull laughing from his place against the wall and tried his best to ignore it, but when the Qunari jerked his head in summons, Cullen nodded. The music faded as the song melted away, and he stepped back from Cassandra with a precise, courtly bow. "Forgive me. My presence is needed elsewhere, my lady," he said. "May I be so bold as to request a favor?"

"Bold men have always had my favor," she said, and it was his turn to blush.

"Meet me on the western balcony in fifteen minutes."

"As you wish."

She melted into the crowd with a small backwards glance. He watched her go until the music started again, and he fled as a determined woman bore down on a newly abandoned partner.

* * *

Bull had only summoned him as a part of Josephine's story, and he held him there for fifteen minutes telling the newest stories of Tevinter. The Qunari didn't mention it, but a raise of his eyebrows asked Cullen if he'd heard about Darren's new family plan. Cullen contrived with only a twitch of his mouth to communicate that he had, and it was crazy, and it was exactly like his brother. Bull agreed through a scratch on his ear.

"Nice to see them happy, though," he said in a non sequitur, and without warning he moved Cullen into the next phase of the plan. They headed for the glass doors, suspiciously absent of guards. "I'm going to be protecting you from interruptions myself. But there's one thing, and it's very important."

"What?"

"If you start taking any clothes off, make a loud noise so I know when to turn around and watch."

Cullen punched him in the arm, and the man grinned. He stood aside as Cullen met a waiting Leliana and a handful of servants. She handed him a single flower and kissed him on the cheek. "This is a very sweet thing you're doing. Cassandra is practically glowing already. And Darren asked me to tell you that he still hates you."

"That means I'm doing something right, at least," he said. He released a breath as he gripped the door handle and swung it open.

Cassandra was waiting, looking out over the distant lights with a soft expression. He stepped behind her and held the flower beneath her nose, and she inhaled in surprise and joy. When she reached up to clasp it in her own hand, he took the opportunity to brush his lips over her cheek. "I'm glad you made it."

She spun to face him and placed her fingers lightly on his arm. "I was very intrigued, Your Highness."

He grinned and stepped aside to show her the scene the servants were setting. The dark corner of the balcony now held a small table, set with candles, and a dinner laid elegantly around them. The door clicked shut, and they were alone.

Cullen was gratified to see a look of complete astonishment cross her face. "For me?"

"For you," he said. "A candlelit dinner under the moon, with the handsome, smitten prince from the ball." He held out his arm to her. "May I escort you, Princess?"

She shook her head, and he frowned. Her strong, scarred fingers grazed his mask. "I'd like to have dinner with my husband, actually," she said. "He's more handsome than any strange prince could be."

He breathed in as she drew the golden face away from his own, then returned the favor by unwinding her lacy covering. They stared at each other in the flickering light, and he cupped her cheek in his palm. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart."

When she leaned in to kiss him, winding her arms around his neck, he tightened his fingers in her hair and breathed her in. His wife. His partner. And the only woman in the world he ever needed to love him.

* * *

Several hours later, after a delightfully intimate dinner and unmasked party attendance that was something less than delightful, he finally tugged her down the hall to their room. She wasn't resisting, but she also wasn't moving nearly fast enough for his tastes, and he almost made a remark about her conditioning before his brain helpfully shut his mouth for him until they reached their destination.

Cullen opened the door quietly, automatically trying to shield the chamber from outside noises before he remembered with relief that it was empty. Anthony was spending the evening with Aunt Alice and Honorary Aunt Sera, which was terror enough for ten men, but Cullen was pathetically grateful to have the room to themselves for one night. This night.

Cassandra grabbed him as soon as they cleared the door, and he twisted to close it behind them while she claimed his mouth. He groaned into the kiss as his hand found the parting in her gown and pushed it aside. He had to touch her. Immediately. If not sooner. When he stroked his fingers across her smalls, she bucked against them and whimpered, pulling him even closer. He heard a ripping sound as she wound her fingers into his shirt, and she yanked harder, parting more threads beneath her hands.

"Do it," he whispered, and a moment later his shirt was in tatters on the floor and her mouth was on him. He leaned back against the wood behind him as she made her way down the muscles of his stomach, trying desperately not to beg while she nipped and bit and traced the lines she loved to where they disappeared.

"What do you want?" she asked in a voice that was all seductive melody.

He hissed as she slowly untied his trousers. "Everything," he said. "You."

She pulled the fabric down over his hips, then paused with her fingers hooked into his own smallclothes. Cullen reached down and touched her face as she looked up at him. The look he saw there was torturous evil, and he craved it with all his being. "Please," he said. "Oh sweetheart, please." He struggled to keep his hips still. Maker he was hard. How did she bring him to this point so easily? He was practically middle-aged, and she made him feel as eager as an inexperienced youth.

Instead of complying, she rose gracefully and kissed him once again. He tried to grab her hips and pull her against him, but the silk slid through his fingers as she danced away. She led him on a short chase to the bed, surprising him with a quick reverse to shove him down on the mattress. He watched while she reached behind her and began to undo some mechanism on the dress that had it sliding down her body. He whimpered when the pale column of her came into view and propped up on his elbows when she unwound the breast band she sorely needed. He'd been right about the pregnancy effects, and the sight of her breasts, bared and waiting, had him drawing his smallclothes off without thought.

She stilled her movements and stared at him, and he flexed his stomach deliberately when he rolled his hips to slide the last of the fabric off and toss it aside. "Want me?" he asked. He grazed his fingers across his length and shuddered at the hungry look on her face.

The rest of her dress slid away, and she threw her own underthings across the room as she crawled onto the bed. "Since I met you," she whispered, then lowered her head to press a kiss to the tip of his erection. Her fingers kneaded his thighs while she took him in her mouth, and he nearly launched himself off the bed. When she'd carried Anthony and been too uncomfortable to take him, she'd still wanted sex with an alluring desperation, and she'd gotten very, very good at knowing exactly what he wanted.

And exactly how far was too far. She kept him on the edge of explosion, drawing back and pushing forward with uncanny timing. Only when he was close to tearing the sheets in frustration did she ease away and seem to lose focus. Cullen looked down, puzzled, and realized that one of her hands had vanished down her own body, and her distraction was born of a very, very good reason.

"Maker, you'll be the death of me," he said in a strangled voice. He sat up and shifted positions until her mouth was occupied with his, and her fingers were joined by his own. She moaned when he pressed one inside her, and he felt her redouble her efforts to find her pleasure. "That's it. Show me how much I drive you wild."

"You do," she said as he moved his lips down to her breast. It was swollen and full, and she gasped as he tasted her. "You're perfect. Oh Cullen. Oh my love."

"Do you want me inside of you?" he asked, before licking and sucking at her pale skin once more.

"Yes," she said. "Oh yes. Please."

He wasn't quite done with her, hadn't quite taken her to the mindless need he craved, and when he finally complied, guiding himself inside her gently, her throat caught in a sob. He held her tightly as they both stilled and waited. He panted against her neck, wanting to move but also wanting the moment to last. Her heart beat under his fingers in time with his own, and he'd never felt so clearly the twining of their souls.

But it had to do something, or he would go mad. Her hand was still between them, and he kissed her ear. "Come for me, sweetheart. With me just like this. I want to feel you."

Almost immediately her fingers worked once more, and he fought to keep himself still, to allow his hips to only flex just a little, just enough, as she brought herself to and over the edge that she needed. "I love you," she cried, and the cry was full of real tears, ones that he kissed away, focusing intently on the feeling of her pulsing around him.

"Are you okay?" he whispered when her breath came more normally.

She nodded into his shoulder. "This has been the most beautiful evening," she sighed. "Finish it, my prince. My knight. My husband."

He growled his need as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he had hardly thrust at all before he was spilling inside her, feeling her trembling, pleasure-filled, incoherent words wash over his heart and leave nothing but peace.

* * *

They explored each other as though for the first time when they were finished, and he'd found more pleasure inside her waiting to be tapped. All he wanted to do was touch her, and he was kissing the bones of her hip tenderly when the soft bell announcing the new day chimed through the palace. Cullen smiled against her skin. "I'm no longer the Inquisitor," he said.

"And the Inquisition is no more."

He pulled away and looked at her. "Do you regret it?"

"No," she said firmly. "I wisheded to build something, without interference. Without my name and rank to lean on, only my own ability. I did. The Inquisition served its purpose. But it would not be enough for the future. I am a warrior, and a warrior cannot build a world without war. I need others to find its peace. You've done this for me."

"I'm a soldier, too."

"Only in duty," she said. "You stand without faltering. But you are much more than a fighter, my love. You're a healer. I'm very proud. And now I look forward to building something much smaller than a world. A family, with you."

He grazed his fingers over her stomach and kissed her skin once more before stopping in horror. "You are taking the herbs again, aren't you? Anthony's still so young."

"The Maker's will be done," she said with a smile.

Cullen gulped. "But you know I can't keep my hands off of you."

She hummed noncommittally. "And I've decided once we return to Cumberland, we need to go back to training with the sticks in the courtyard. I let your progress slide too much in my pregnancy. I was preoccupied with other things, but no more. We must get you back into shape."

He thought back to the annex where they'd unknowingly conceived, a place they'd spent little time in since they'd moved, given her condition. Then he pictured Cassandra, belly beautifully round and full of life once more. And the way she'd always, always wanted him. "Sweet Andraste," he said. "I really will need training."

Cassandra laughed, and they settled down to sleep, her using his chest as a pillow. "We'll be late leaving for Nevarra tomorrow," she said. "I promised Bull I'd spar with him in the morning."

"Good," he mumbled into her hair, already half-asleep. "I can take your chainmail off afterwards."

She sighed and nestled closer to his chest. "Honestly, do you think of anything other than removing my garments?"

"Mmm," he said. "Yes. I think of you removing mine."

He huffed a laugh as she slapped him lightly across the chest. "Sleep," he said. "Tomorrow we go home."

Cassandra leaned up and grazed her lips along his jawline. "I already am."

She made herself comfortable once more and fell into deep, even breathing. He looked up at the dark, distant ceiling and imagined a pair of pale, laughing eyes above them. He wondered if Ellana ever looked across this new world, built on the foundations of her life, and was pleased. He wondered if she kept watch over them all with her lover at her side. If so, he hoped she was as happy as he was, in this moment, for the rest of her days.

"Me too, sweetheart," he murmured, kissing the top of Cassandra's sleeping head. "Me too."


End file.
